Meeting Of The Minds
by Helga Von Nutwimple
Summary: With the Order's safety hanging on the whim of a lovesick Ron, Snape calls his bluff... and Hermione calls his. Loosely based on the WIKTT Marriage Law Challenge.
1. Ten Points To Gryffindor

"Fred! George! You put that down this instant! Charlie, you are _not_ too old to spank! Ron, that broom is _not_ glued to your hand, get in this kitchen! Ginny, what _do_ you think you're doing?"  
  
Molly Weasley's commanding tones rang through the kitchen, cutting through a sea of ginger-haired chaos. Every Weasley had their voice raised, feet pounding up and down the stairs of the Burrow, dishes clanging and spells flying everywhere as objects whizzed by, collided, apologized, and went on their way again.  
  
Underneath the stairs, Hermione Granger clung to a support pole, white-faced, watching the madness.  
  
A hand touched her shoulderblade; a low voice whispered in her ear. "Y'know... there's no law that says that _you_ have to have seven children."   
  
"Stop using Leglimency on me, Harry," Hermione hissed, still wide-eyed and staring.  
  
"I'm not using Leglimency. Don't need to. The look on your face says it all."  
  
"There's just... there's just so _many_ of them..."  
  
"C'mon, Hermione, Ron's not going to want to have seven kids. He's spent years complaining about hand-me-downs, and he's about as scared of little booties as he is of giant spiders... you'll be lucky to get him to have one."  
  
"We'll have to have at least two, Harry..."  
  
Harry flashed her that sad, rueful little half-smile she'd come to know so well. "I know. But maybe Dumbledore will get this sorted out before that happens."  
  
"He's not going to get anything 'sorted out', Harry. Fudge doesn't listen to anyone but his Pureblood cheering squad and you know it."  
  
"We'll think of something. C'mon, Hermione, cheer up. It'll be like SPEW, only you'll be liberating you."  
  
"Well, you saw how well SPEW worked out, didn't you," Hermione spat.  
  
"But... but they didn't _want_ to be freed. You do; the other Muggleborns do..."  
  
Hermione whirled, her great brown fluff of hair smacking against the post. "Just call me 'Mudblood', Harry. Everyone else does."  
  
"I'm not everyone else," Harry said quietly.  
  
"No, you're not, are you? You're The Great Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. No one would _dream_ of making _you_ into some kind of... breeding cow against your will."  
  
"You're right, Hermione." Harry's voice had grown as sarcastic as her own. "No one _ever_ makes me do _anything_ I don't want to do. I _adore_ the Dursleys, and fighting Voldemort is just like the circus, _really_."  
  
"Want to trade? I'd gladly be out _doing_ something, even if it is fighting Voldemort, than... than laying on my back _growing Weasleys_."  
  
"Don't insult the Weasleys. They've been good to us both."  
  
Hermione's hands went to her temple. "I know, Harry, I know. I don't hate the Weasleys... I just hate being forced to do things."  
  
"I do too, Hermione." Harry slung an arm around her shoulder, and Hermione sank into it.  
  
The front door swung open, revealing a doorframe full of Arthur Weasley, and Hermione's heart leapt.   
  
Fred and George nearly tangled up trying to get to him, and Hermione felt a little rush of gratitude; Fred and George had no intention of settling down any time soon, loathed the new law as much as she did, and harassed their father about it endlessly... so she didn't have to.  
  
"Dad!"  
  
"Dad!"  
  
"Dad!"  
  
"Dad!"  
  
"What did you find out?"  
  
"Did they repeal it?"  
  
Arthur dropped into a chair, setting his hat upon the table. "No, they didn't repeal it. The appeal failed; only one member of the Wizengamot voted for it."  
  
"Dumbledore," Molly's face bore a fierce expression that said she'd personally like to box the ears of the entire Wizengamot.  
  
"Right in one, love."  
  
"But how..." Fred sputtered. "Why... why would they..."  
  
"They're thinking about the big picture, Fred," Arthur sighed heavily. "Maybe we should start thinking that way, too."  
  
"You don't seriously believe this rot, do you, Dad?" George cried. "You and Mum are both Purebloods, and there's not a Squib among us! Ron's not pretty to look at, but he doesn't have two heads!"  
  
"Your mother and I have been very fortunate. Many other families have not been so lucky. Are you aware that Draco Malfoy is Lucius and Narcissa's seventh and only surviving child?"  
  
"Don't see how less Malfoys is a problem," Ron muttered.  
  
"It's not just the Malfoys. It's most of the pureblood families."  
  
"I don't understand why they don't just get off their ruddy high horses and admit that being a Pureblood doesn't make them holy," Bill spat. "If they hadn't been so high-and-mighty for ages, this wouldn't be happening now."  
  
"I don't see why it has to be a _law_," Charlie added. "It's sexist and unfair and will only build more animosity..."  
  
"I know, son. I know. But Fudge has never learned that just because he has a hammer, he doesn't have to use it."  
  
"Arthur..." Molly began, apparently unaware she was wringing her apron in her fists, "Did they...?"  
  
"Yes, love. They made it worse."  
  
"Worse?" Fred yelped. "How could it be worse?"  
  
"They've added... magical compulsions to it. It's not just a marriage... it's a Binding."  
  
"It really _is_ like the house-elves," Harry said in horror, finding Hermione's hand and gripping it tight.  
  
"Very much like the House-Elves, Harry," Arthur agreed.  
  
"So, wait," George said. "We're going to be Bound to some woman, forced to gleefully run make her toast?"  
  
"You won't be Bound, George. But she will."  
  
"Just the women." Molly was literally quivering with rage.  
  
Arthur sighed. "Just the Muggle-borns. Until the woman has produced at least one boy and one girl child. Then the Binding breaks."  
  
Harry searched Arthur's face, not at all liking what he found there. "There's more, isn't there?"  
  
Arthur put his hands on his hat, turning it slowly between his palms, avoiding the eyes of everyone... especially Hermione.  
  
"There are... other compulsions. To ensure the, ah, production of children, and, um... faithfulness. They don't want marriages in name only."  
  
"Witches will be fleeing everywhere," Charlie said darkly. "There'll be an outbreak of broken wands, Dad, you know this. They'll lose all that 'fresh blood' they so crave... this law will accomplish the exact opposite of what they want."  
  
"They _can't_ flee, Charlie. The Binding is done at the Ministry; they don't even have to be there for it. If they run, and someone offers for them, they'll found themselves Bound no matter where they are. And I understand that being Bound far away from the one you are Bound to is a terribly painful experience."  
  
"How... how far away can they be?"  
  
"Physical contact for five hours a day, minimum."  
  
"Five hours a day?" George bellowed. "What am I supposed to do, sew her to me?"  
  
"It's designed to ensure... bed-sharing."  
  
"Well then you _will_ have to sew her to you," Fred quipped, "The way you snore!"  
  
"Not... now... Fred..." Molly's teeth were clenched.  
  
"And this is just Purebloods and Muggleborns," Bill asked.  
  
"For the moment, yes."  
  
A silence broke out... interrupting by a choking sob from Hermione and the sound of her feet thudding up the stairs.  
  
-----

"Finite Incantatem," the gangly wizard said in tones of utter boredom, and Hermione felt all the hexes she'd put on herself dissolve away.  
  
Dammit. She'd spent hours this morning making herself hideous. She supposed other witches had gotten the same idea.  
  
"Smile!"   
  
Hermione glowered into the camera, shooting as much pure hatred out of her eyeballs as humanly possible.  
  
_Bid for me, and I will ruin your life. I will chew up your balls and spit them out._  
  
Of course, her inclusion in The Catalogue was only a formality; she'd be accepting Ron eventually. If she had to be Bound to someone, at least it would be her friend.  
  
As demeaning as The Catalogue was, Hermione understood why Snape had suggested Hogwarts publish it. Ever since the schoolyear had started, the grounds had been overrun by "visitors"... Pureblood male witches, standing at the back of the Great Hall, ogling the student body. Pun intended.   
  
After all, if you had to get yourself a witch, why not get the youngest, perkiest one available?  
  
In fact, it had been this influx of window-shopping lechers that had given Hermione a first in her life -- a feeling of gratitude towards Professor Snape.  
  
"Excuse me," Professor Snape had purred, his black velvet voice more dangerous than she'd ever heard it -- which was saying quite a bit.  
  
He'd advanced, black robes billowing, on the "visitor" standing in the back of their Potions class, to stand much too deeply in the squat wizard's personal space.  
  
"I don't believe you've been introduced to Miss Granger, _sir_..."  
  
The man had gulped as Snape stood over him.  
  
"Miss Granger is a brilliant student, certainly. But clumsy. Very clumsy. Particularly when she is nervous. And I think you'll find, _sir_, that Miss Granger gets _very_ nervous when she is being stared at. Don't you, Miss Granger?"  
  
Hermione had merely stared at him, wide-eyed. Had he just called her brilliant?  
  
"I think it would be unwise to cause Miss Granger to be nervous. It would be a dreadful thing if she spilled the potion she was working on. It's quite advanced and very interesting. Perhaps you would like to hear about its properties. Miss Granger, would you care to explain the effects of the _Penis-Shrinking Potion_ to our visitor?"  
  
Hermione blinked, her throat suddenly bone-dry. "It... it shrinks penises," she whispered.  
  
"Excellent, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor. Careful with that cauldron, now; I do believe you nearly spilled some on our _guest_."  
  
The man had left hurriedly, unnoticed by the class, universally slack-jawed, gaping at Snape.  
  
"Oh, close your mouths," Snape had snapped. "You look even more idiotic than usual."  
  
He'd stalked up to his desk, spat out more instructions, and class had gone back to normal.  
  
_Snape had a sense of humor. Who knew?_

-----

"So you _are_ physically capable of awarding points to Gryffindor," McGonagall smiled.  
  
"If I must to make a point, yes," Snape snapped, lifting his goblet.  
  
"And you defended Miss Granger..."  
  
"This law is utterly inane, Minerva. I wouldn't wish it on a dog; I wouldn't even wish it on Miss Granger, especially when the result will be decades of ginger-headed know-it-alls fouling up my dungeon."  
  
"What about you, Severus? You're required to bid as well, aren't you?"  
  
"I must regretfully inform you that no one has answered my personal ad."  
  
"P-Personal Ad?"  
  
"Grumpy Bastard seeks Petrified Deaf-Mute."  
  
McGonagall choked on her glass of wine; next to her, she heard Dumbledore do the same.  
  
"Well, that's most unfortunate, Severus," McGonagall said, her eyes dancing. "Perhaps we'll have another Basilisk attack and true love will find you."  
  
"One can only hope," Snape replied.


	2. Bloody Hell

"Myrtle?" Hermione pushed open the door to the Girl's lavatory, fishing in her pocket to withdraw a small plastic bag. "Myrtle? I brought you something..."  
  
She heard the familiar sound of soft sobs and sighed inwardly. "I brought you cookies... I've been letting them mold for a month..."  
  
"Cookies?" exclaimed a shrill voice behind her, and Hermione whirled. Myrtle's eyes, hugely magnified behind her glasses, widened in greed as she saw the contents of Hermione's hands.  
  
"Yes, I... Happy Deathday..." Hermione trailed off, her ear tuning to the far wall. The soft sobs continued unabated.  
  
"It's not me crying," Myrtle hissed conspiratorially. "It's Dorcas Limbergh. She's been in there for _hours_."  
  
Hermione took a few steps towards the stalls. "Dorcas?"  
  
Dorcas was in her year, a sweet-faced, ginger-haired Hufflepuff so quiet Hermione had originally wondered if she was mute. "Dorcas, are you all right?"  
  
"Don't make fun of me anymore, Myrtle," a sniffly voice moaned from behind a stall door. "I'm miserable enough as it is."  
  
"It's Hermione Granger, Dorcas. Are you all right?"  
  
"Would _you_ be?"  
  
A parchment rolled out from beneath the stall door, and Hermione took it, her heart sinking.   
  
"Petition For Marriage", read the severe gothic letters at the top.  
  
Hermione scanned down, past the legal jargon, past Dorcas' name...  
  
"Goyle?" Hermione whispered in horror.   
  
The sobs behind the door amplified.  
  
"Dorcas, do you even _know_ him?"  
  
"O-our f-fathers w-were old f-friends..."  
  
Hermione shook her head, imagining the gentle Hufflepuff with Malfoy's lead thug. "Dorcas, surely you..."  
  
"It's the only one I've gotten." The stall door swung open, revealing Dorcas' tear-stained face. "And today's the last day."  
  
"Couldn't you... couldn't you get a friend, or something..."  
  
Dorcas' face twisted into the closest thing to anger Hermione had ever seen upon it. "Not all of us have a Weasley waiting in the wings to save us, _Granger_."  
  
Dorcas snatched the parchment out of Hermione's hands and fled the bathroom.  
  
"Touchy," Myrtle sighed, taking a bite of her fuzzy green cookie.  
  
---  
  
"Limbergh and Goyle?" Harry hissed, leaning over his plate to meet Hermione's eyes. "You can't be serious. He'll eat her for lunch!"  
  
"And have room for dessert," Ron muttered.  
  
"Can't somebody..." Harry's hands made anxious fists as the muscle under his jaw worked.  
  
"It's so unfair," Ginny sighed.  
  
Ron swallowed a mouthful of chicken. "I'll say. Can you imagine? Trapped under a heaving, panting Goyle for the rest of your life? I'd be going to live with Myrtle in the S-Bend."  
  
"Well, that's the thing, isn't it?" Ginny snapped. "She'll _want_ to be trapped under a heaving, panting Goyle for the rest of her life, once she's Bound. That's the most disgusting bit."  
  
"Not all the time," Harry said quietly. "I talked to Remus about it. They're not even that kind. She'll hate him and he'll hurt her and she'll hate him more for it... and if she tries to stay away from him too long..."  
  
Harry trailed off, poking his mashed potatoes glumly.  
  
"Aw, c'mon, Harry," Ron drawled sarcastically. "The foundation of every good marriage is a couple of Unforgivables built into the marriage contract..."  
  
"Yeah, it's just not love until your wife undergoes Cruciatus if she tries to take a solo mini-break," Ginny finished, then looked up at Hermione's paling face. "Sorry, Hermione."  
  
"Neville, where are you going?" Ron leaned back, catching the hem of Neville's robes.  
  
"I'll be right back." There was a curious shadow over his face.  
  
Ron watched him go. "What's got into him?"  
  
Ginny smiled a little Mona Lisa smile. "If I had to guess... I'd say he's gone to propose to Dorcas Limbergh."  
  
"You mentioned the Cruciatus Curse built into the contract on purpose," Harry said.  
  
"He's liked her since Fourth Year. Never had the guts to ask her out," Ginny replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "At the risk of sounding like Mum, I felt a little meddling was warranted."  
  
"That's where it starts," Ron muttered.  
  
---  
  
"You really miss it, don't you," Hermione said quietly.  
  
Harry's face was trained at the sky, his scarf fluttering as his eyes traced Ginny's flight for the Snitch. "Sorry, Hermione, what?"   
  
"I said... you really miss it, don't you?"  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, I do. I know you don't like to fly, Hermione, but... you know that feeling _you_ get, when all the pieces of a puzzle come together for you? That's... that's what Quidditch was for me."  
  
Hermione thought about that rush of savage joy, that urge to throw her hands into the air and scream in delight... and reached out for Harry's hand.  
  
"I think it's utter crap that you were banned, Harry," she said, then lightened her tone. "Especially since Ginny can't seem to catch the Snitch at all tonight..."  
  
"She's doing it on purpose."  
  
"What?"  
  
"She's doing it on purpose. I've been watching her. She's concentrating all her efforts on keeping Cho from getting it and not trying for it herself."  
  
"Ginny's throwing the game?"  
  
"No, we'll win." Harry turned to her and smiled. "There are scouts from the Chudley Cannons in the stands tonight. Ginny's giving Ron more time to shine."  
  
"Ron... they're scouting _Ron_?"  
  
"He's gotten really good. He's been fantastic tonight. I wouldn't be surprised if they sign him."  
  
"Is..." Hermione bit her lip. "Is that why we're not in the stands?"  
  
Harry had asked her to watch the game from the hillside with him, and Hermione had wondered why all night. They could hear the commentary, and see Ginny and Cho, but not much else.  
  
"I didn't want to be... distracting," Harry sighed. "I wanted the focus on Ron."  
  
Hermione squeezed his hand, yelping as movement in the air caused Harry to clamp down.   
  
"Oh... she'll have to catch it now... to your left, Ginny! To your left! Your other left!"  
  
Harry bellowed his approval as the Snitch landed in Ginny's palm, and Hermione clapped.  
  
"We've got a few hours until Neville's wedding, and Ron will be in interviews... you want to go down and see Hagrid?"  
  
"Aren't you hungry, Harry?"  
  
"Not particularly. And I think I'd rather talk to you before Ron gets back."  
  
Hermione stood, brushing the dirt off her skirt, and followed Harry down the hillside. "Why?"  
  
"Well, I couldn't help but notice that you seemed... well... pretty aghast at the thought of Ron playing professional Quidditch."  
  
"No! No, I think that's great, honestly. I mean, it's a dream come true for Ron, isn't it?"  
  
"But you're going to be Bound to him."  
  
"But... I'm going to be Bound to him."  
  
"Hermione Granger, Quidditch Groupie."  
  
"Exactly. Oh, Harry, it's just -- I'd rather thought he'd want to be an Auror, like you, I mean... I always had this idea of the three of us stomping around after Dark Wizards..."  
  
"I'd kind of thought that too."  
  
"And now I'm going to be panting after Ron, jumping for joy at the thought of darning his socks, and -- well, no, I won't be _able_ to jump, I'll be massively pregnant all the time, and..."  
  
Harry changed directions, heading for the sculpture garden. "C'mon, Hermione."  
  
"It's just... I don't want to stop Ron from following his dream, I don't, and once I'm Bound, hell, Ron's dreams _will_ be my dreams, I'm going to be practically perverted over Quidditch, I'll probably get the Chudley Cannons logo tattooed across my massive, stretch-marked belly..."  
  
Harry sat down on a bench, pulling Hermione next to him. "C'mere."  
  
She let herself be folded into his arms. "I know Ron's doing a great thing... I mean, he's saving me, isn't he? I'm sure he doesn't want to get married to me any more than I do to him... but I had... I _have_... dreams of my own, you know?"  
  
Harry stroked her hair. "I know."  
  
"And what was the point of it all, really? If I'd stayed a Muggle, I could have been a doctor or something, a teacher maybe, could have been _free_, at least. Instead I've worked my arse off for nearly seven years, trying to be someone, trying to excel, and it's all pointless."  
  
"Are you seriously telling me that you could have gotten a Hogwarts letter and not done anything about it? I know your mind, you're far too curious for that."  
  
"I might have done, if I'd known this was going to be the end result. Honestly, Harry, why am I even in class? Why am I studying for my NEWTS? Why am I taking them?"  
  
"Because you're Hermione. And that's a pretty fantastic thing to be, if you ask me." Harry slid his thumb beneath her eyelashes, wiping away her tears.  
  
"Harry, I'm just so... so angry, and so frustrated, it's like I'm seeing red all the time. I just want to... well, I want to _rebel_, you know? This stupid Dark Ages arranging and it doesn't matter at all what I want, I want to... streak the Quidditch pitch, or transfigure Snape into a bat, or... oh, I don't know, I just want to..."  
  
"That's completely understandable, you know," Harry murmured, reaching up with his fingers to brush away a lock of frizz that had fallen in her eyes. "God knows I've felt that way loads of..."  
  
Hermione leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.  
  
She felt Harry stiffen from shock, and reached up to curl her fingers through his dark hair, drawing him closer to her... but Harry pulled away, panting.  
  
"Hermione, don't... it's weird, it's... you don't know..."  
  
She drew his forehead down to hers, their noses almost touching. "I do know, Harry. _Please_."  
  
Hermione kissed his cheek, his temple, pressed her lips lightly to his closed eyelid.  
  
Harry trembled, and he would; since Sirius had been used as bait, Harry had never let himself be romantically involved with anyone. As far as Hermione knew... and she was quite sure this was correct... Harry hadn't even kissed anyone since Cho Chang, years ago.   
  
A seventeen-year-old boy living the life of a monk, a stew of hormones... Hermione was hardly playing fair, and she knew it.  
  
"Harry," Hermione whispered, trailing her fingers down the side of his neck, "Once, just once, I'd like to do this of my own free will. And I'm already attached to you, already a target..."  
  
Hermione kissed the soft spot at the hinge of his jaw, and Harry let out a little moan.  
  
"Please, Harry."  
  
Harry threaded his fingers into her hair with a groan, capturing her mouth with his, their kisses growing frantic, desperate. They tumbled off the bench into the grass, Harry's hand behind her head to soften the fall, her school skirt sliding up beneath the warmth of his palm.  
  
Panic and rage and confusion and hormones ground together in Hermione's head as she pressed herself against him, feeling him moan into her mouth.   
  
"Hermione," he whispered, "I don't... I don't know how to do this..."  
  
"I don't either... we'll figure it out..."  
  
She pulled Harry's school robes open, reaching for his tie, struggling to get it unknotted. Harry put his hands over hers, undoing it for her, slinging it into the grass beside them. She yanked at his buttons, pressing kisses on his collarbone, feeling a surge of... what? Pride? at the near-insane look in Harry's eyes, the harshness of his breath, the evidence that she wasn't just a know-it-all pressing urgently into her inner thigh.   
  
Harry's teeth scraped her neck, and Hermione threw her head back into the grass, her fingers clutching at his shoulders...  
  
"Bloody. Hell."  
  
Hermione's head snapped up at the same time Harry's did, both of them looking towards the sound of the voice...  
  
Ron and Ginny Weasley stood in full Quidditch robes, gaping at them. The Marauder's Map trembled in Ron's fist.  
  
Harry rolled off her and they scrambled up in the grass, staring at Ron, who was practically pulsating in fury.  
  
"This is why you didn't come watch me play," Ron spat, "You wanted to go off and... snog my fiancee?"  
  
"Looked like they were about to do a hell of a lot more than snog," Ginny muttered.  
  
Hermione took a step back from the look of hate in Ginny's eyes.  
  
_Oh, God... I thought she didn't like Harry anymore..._  
  
"I guess my family isn't good enough for you, Granger?" Ginny's small hands were curled into fists. "And here I thought you didn't want children. I guess you just didn't want _Weasleys_."  
  
"It's not like that..."  
  
"Y'know, Harry," Ron said. "There were Scouts at the game tonight. This was pretty much the most important night of my whole life. And I wondered why my friends weren't there. I guess now I know, eh?"  
  
"We watched you play," Harry panted. "From the hill... I didn't want to be in the stands, I didn't want to distract..."  
  
"Oh, that's right. How could I forget. Mr. Famous, The Boy Who Lived, is such a sodding celebrity that were he to come watch his best friend play, everyone's eyes would be on him instead."  
  
"Ron, Harry's telling the truth, and you know he's right..."  
  
Ron's eyes met Hermione's and bored into them. "How long has this been going on?"  
  
"It _hasn't_ been going on, Ron..."  
  
"We're about to be _married_, and you've never even let me _kiss_ you! And now you're shagging my best friend?"  
  
"I'm not shagging him! Honestly, Ron! And I never... I never thought you _wanted_ to kiss me!"  
  
"For a know-it-all, Granger, you're awfully _thick_," Ginny said coldly.  
  
"Y'know, I could have dated lots of girls." Ron's face was nearly purple. "Lots of them. But oh no, I'd made a promise to you, my _dear friend_ Hermione. Y'know, they haven't extended the law to half-bloods yet, this little _trade-up_ isn't going to work out for you."  
  
"T-t-trade-up?"  
  
"I know how you look at my family!" Ron bellowed. "You think we're poor and shabby, not like Harry's family, oh no, they're rich..."  
  
"Rich and _dead_," Harry countered, fury of his own growing. "Want to trade? I'd give my eyeteeth to be a Weasley and you know it."  
  
"You practically _are_ a Weasley! My mum's taken you in, taken care of you... and after all that..."  
  
"Don't blame Harry, Ron!" Hermione pleaded. "It was all my fault, honestly!"  
  
"It was _not_ all your fault, Hermione," Harry sighed.  
  
"Yes it was! Ron, he didn't want to, he really didn't, I practically jumped him, I begged him..."  
  
"You _begged_ him?" Far from calming down, Ron's face was more purple than ever. "I've never even really touched you, and you _begged_ him?"  
  
"Well, how _sweet_ of you, Harry, to _help a girl out_ like that," Ginny chimed in, quite purple herself.  
  
"It's not like that!" Hermione's blood was throbbing. "Look, you can't understand, you're Purebloods, this law doesn't apply to you! You don't know what it's like to be forced to do something against your will..."  
  
"Forced to marry me, eh? Horrible, disgusting punishment, that..."  
  
"I'm not saying that, Ron! I'm not saying that at all! I'm saying I'm not going to have a choice! You're wonderful and I love you, but I don't want to be your house-elf! Surely you can understand the difference! I thought you didn't want this either!"  
  
"Is that what you thought," Ron huffed. "Here I've been, waiting around for you to turn seventeen..."  
  
"I'm already seventeen, Ron!"  
  
"No you're not! Your birthday isn't until the nineteenth!"  
  
"I'm months and months older than I used to be, Ron... the Time-Turner..."  
  
"You're already seventeen." Ron looked about to explode. "You've been... _procrastinating_ from marrying me."  
  
"I didn't think... as long as... we didn't need to do it yet..."  
  
"I hope you both rot," Ron said fiercely, his Quidditch robes billowing around him as he whirled. "C'mon, Ginny."  
  
Ginny stood a moment, her mouth working, looking as if she were hunting for some horrible thing to say... and then she turned and followed her brother up the hill.  
  
Hermione and Harry stood, aghast, staring after them.  
  
"Harry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, oh my God..."  
  
"Hermione, you didn't know. I didn't know, either." Harry sighed heavily. "Maybe we are thick."  
  
"Incredibly thick," Hermione whispered.   
  
_God, the look in Ginny's eyes..._  
  
"I'm going to go after them," Harry said. "I can fix this, I've _got_ to. Are you coming?"  
  
Hermione hugged her arms around herself. "Maybe you should go without me, Harry, I think... I think they're both angrier at me than at you."  
  
Then, in a small voice: "Are _you_? Are you angry at me?"  
  
Harry grabbed her hand. "Hell no, Hermione. I know what it's like to feel trapped. I just hope I can make Ron understand that."  
  
The corners of his mouth twisted into a grin. "And don't ever tell Ron this, but I'd have to say 'angry' is not at all how I'm feeling towards you at the moment."  
  
He pulled her towards him, put a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Kinda wishing I was a Pureblood at the moment, actually. Don't worry, Hermione. Ron will understand, he's got to. I'm gonna go."  
  
Harry pounded up the hillside towards school, and Hermione sank down onto the bench, staring numbly at her knees.  
  
---  
  
"Is Miss Hermione wanting anything else? Dobby has some lovely ham back in the kitchen..."  
  
"No, Dobby, thank you. I _really_ appreciate this, you know."  
  
"Pardoning Dobby, Miss Hermione, but why isn't Miss Hermione wanting to be taking breakfast in the hall? Is Miss Hermione ill? Dobby could fetch Madame Pomfrey..."  
  
"I'm not ill, Dobby," Hermione sighed. "Things are just... complicated."  
  
Dobby laid his tiny hand on top of her own. "If Miss Hermione is needing anything else, she is calling Dobby?"  
  
_Well, Dobby, I need a lot of things. A Time-Turner would be a good start..._  
  
"I certainly will, Dobby. Thank you again."  
  
Dobby disappeared with a pop, and Hermione plucked an orange slice off the platter Dobby had brought her, chewing it slowly.  
  
Harry's attempt to pacify Ron had turned into a screaming match loud enough for everyone in Gryffindor Tower to hear.   
  
Hell, _Hagrid_ had probably heard it.  
  
Lavender and Parvati's excited, gossipy whispers and Ginny's glaring had sent Hermione sprinting for the sanctuary of her Head Girl bedroom the minute she'd passed The Fat Lady, and her glance into the Common Room this morning showed her that things had only gotten worse.   
  
Skipping breakfast only protected her for an hour, though. The rumors would be flying all over the school by now, Malfoy would have a field day. Worse, she had Double Advanced Potions, which meant twice as much Malfoy as usual.  
  
A tap at her window caused Hermione's head to fly up, and she opened the window. Figured that _The Daily Prophet_ owl would know how to find her anyway...  
  
The owl surged in on powerful wings...  
  
Followed by an avian avalanche, as owls of every color and size poured into her room. Her copy of the _Prophet_ was dropped on her bed, followed by scroll after scroll of parchment. Hermione could only gape at the whirling mass of birds streaking through her room, a brown-and-white swirl around the ceiling and back out the window.  
  
As she gasped, another owl flew directly to her, dropping an envelope right into her hands before hooting and following the rest of the pack out the window.  
  
Hermione turned the envelope over and over in her hands. It was a violent shade of chartreuse, and looked for all the world like an ordinary Muggle greeting card.  
  
She dragged her finger through the envelope, her heart thumping heavily against her chest.  
  
It _was_ a Muggle greeting card. A naughty one, at that. The still picture on the front showed a hideously unattractive woman, clad in lingerie, kissing the boot of a bandy-legged old man in saggy boxers and suspenders.  
  
Revolting.  
  
Hermione cracked it, bile rising in her throat.  
  
"HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY FROM SLYTHERIN HOUSE!" was written in large block letters right before one of Malfoy's infamous moving cartoons.  
  
"We're awfully sorry that we missed your birthday," the smaller message below continued. Hermione recognized the spindly writing as Malfoy's own. "As you can see, we've made it up to you!"  
  
Hermione blinked, her mind whirling as her eyes fixed on the final sentence: "We're looking forward to seeing a lot more of you in the near future."  
  
Every student in Slytherin House had signed it.  
  
Hermione ran to the bed, throwing herself upon it, seizing the scroll closest to her fingers.  
  
Oh, dear God. _Marcus Flint_. He was practically a Troll, how many years had he been held back?  
  
She seized the next, and the next, her fingers breaking seals at blistering speed, a pile of parchment growing on the floor next to her bed.  
  
Crabbe. Goyle. Malfoy himself. Waltham Bulstrode. And every other boy in Slytherin.  
  
_They knew. They'd heard. They knew Ron was furious at her, knew that her protection was gone... what the hell, what the hell was she going to..._  
  
Hermione's eyes flew wide.  
  
She'd go see Snape before class.  
  
That was it, that was _perfect_. Snape was in the Order and she knew it; more than anyone else, it would be dangerous for Snape to have her Bound to a Slytherin. Once she was Bound, she'd tell that Slytherin anything they wanted to know... Snape would be dead at Voldemort's hands before Christmas.  
  
And Snape had power over the Slytherins, could bully them into retracting the bids. Hermione grabbed her cloak, tossing it over her shoulders, ripping her Transfiguration and Charms textbooks out of her bag and stuffing the scrolls in their stead.  
  
---  
  
"IDIOT BOY!!"  
  
Hermione froze outside the Potions classroom as Snape's bellow of rage filled the hallway. Oh, God, he was already pissed off...  
  
"Why? Why are you having this conversation with me instead of Dumbledore? I'll tell you why, you useless chit! BECAUSE I AM SCARIER!"  
  
Hermione's heart leapt into her throat. She didn't want to talk to him after this...   
  
"You _will_ marry Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley. I don't care if you saw her snogging The Dark Lord in a broom closet! I don't care if you caught her in a threesome with Filch and Mrs. Norris! There is a _war on_, and your feeble fleck of what you think is pride has no place here!"  
  
Oh my God. It was _Ron_ on the receiving end of Snape's hellwrath. Hermione crept closer to the door, and now she could hear the murmur of Ron's voice as well.  
  
"I thought the high-and-mighty _Gryffindors_ were supposed to be _loyal_? Have you any idea what will happen to Miss Granger if you don't stop this?"  
  
She tried to make out Ron's words, but Snape's heavy footfalls drowned them out.  
  
"POTTER CAN'T, you little maggot! I wish you could see yourself, see the way petty jealousy has twisted your face, twisted your tiny little mind! You'd think you'd _jump_ at a chance to save Granger when Potter is unable! LOOK AT ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU, BOY!"  
  
Hermione felt her anger at Ron ebb. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be sitting in that room...  
  
"There is only one other person in the Order who could _possibly_ marry her, Weasley. And believe me when I say that you don't want that. This is not about you and your snivelly little feelings! Do you realize how many people could die for your obstinence? Is that what you want? The blood of Remus Lupin on your head? Of Albus Dumbledore? Of Harry Potter?"  
  
Whatever Ron said in reply to that, it wasn't the right answer. Hermione heard a drawer bang, and crept closer to the doorframe.  
  
"What -- what is that?" she heard Ron ask.  
  
"It's a marriage bid, Mr. Weasley. A marriage bid that I am, right now, writing Miss Granger's name on. Sign it."  
  
"I won't."  
  
"Sign it."  
  
"No!"  
  
"Sign it, Weasley, or _I will_."  
  
"What?" Ron gasped.  
  
Snape's voice dropped into the purr that was somehow worse than his shout. "That's right, Weasley. _I'm_ the only Pureblood unmarried member of the Order. I see by the horror on your face that you grasp the meaning of my words. Now sign the contract."  
  
"You're bluffing... you hate Hermione..."  
  
"I assure you, Mr. Weasley, I do not bluff. And I value my own life tremendously. Sign the contract."  
  
"No."  
  
"Very well."   
  
Hermione's blood chilled at the sound of a quill scratching parchment.  
  
"I've signed it, Weasley. You now have one week to rescue your friend from the clutches of me."  
  
"You won't... you wouldn't..."  
  
"I think you'll find that I will and would, Mr. Weasley. And allow me to add a little... extra encouragement to your predicament. You are aware, of course, that should you persist in this juvenile behavior, Miss Granger will be Bound to me?"  
  
"She'd never do it!"  
  
"Miss Granger is far more practical than you, Weasley. Miss Granger, at least, understands the importance of the work The Order is doing. Do you really think she'd let Harry die when she could stop it? Think about your answer."  
  
"She might marry you, but she'd fight you tooth and nail..."  
  
"She'd be Bound to me, Weasley. She'd want to make me _happy_. In... _every way_... I'll let you consider the implications of that."  
  
"She would _not_."  
  
"Do you forget, Mr. Weasley, that I am a Potions Master? Understand the ramifications of that."  
  
Snape's voice became caressing, nearly seductive. "Just imagine it, Weasley. I could give her things that would leave her panting for me. Picture it in your mind. Your darling Hermione, writhing beneath me, screaming my name, clawing into my back, begging me to give it to her harder... faster... drowning in pleasure, drenched in sweat, my mouth traveling all over her young, virginal, innocent body..."  
  
Hermione's heart kicked hard in her chest.  
  
"Her hands tangling in my hair... my _greasy_ hair... as she stares into my hideous face and sobs out her love for me... do you like that image, Weasley? Does it put the Potter incident into perspective for you? Or shall I go on? Perhaps you're enjoying this?"  
  
"N-no," Ron gasped.  
  
"Very well. One week, Mr. Weasley. I hope you will keep this conversation, and the images it has bestowed, at the forefront of your mind. Now get out of my sight."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Get out of my sight, Mr. Weasley, you repulse me. Twenty points from Gryffindor for every second you are still in this room. Twenty... forty... sixty... eighty..."  
  
Hermione flattened herself against the wall as Ron stumbled out of Snape's classroom, his face a violent shade of green. Ron stumbled down the hall, his hand clasped over his mouth.  
  
"Come in, Miss Granger."  
  
Hermione's eyes goggled. He'd known she was out here?  
  
"Come _in_, Miss Granger!"  
  
She stumbled into Snape's classroom, unable to meet his eyes.  
  
"Well," Snape said. "I see you're made of stronger stuff than Mr. Weasley; I rather expected you to be the same greenish hue. How disappointing."  
  
"You... you bid on me," Hermione gasped.  
  
"Don't fret, Miss Granger. Mr. Weasley will come to his senses. I think I've made certain of that."  
  
"Would... but you..."  
  
"I have no intention of marrying you, Miss Granger. Surely you recognize blackmail when you eavesdrop upon it. But that's not why you came down here to see me..."  
  
"I thought... I thought you could persuade the Slytherins to retract their bids."  
  
"The bids are not retractable, Miss Granger. If they were, I should not have been forced to summon up such a disgusting tableaux for Mr. Weasley's benefit. And on that topic... if you'll excuse me, I have some business with my Pensieve if I'm to make it through class without vomiting. Take your seat."  
  
Hermione stumbled into her usual chair, the scrolls that filled her bag rattling -- like she needed the reminder.  
  
For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger found herself completely unable to think.


	3. For The Cause

Students filed in around her... laughing, chatting, rattling papers. Visitors from another planet, a carefree world she vaguely remembered, a world where her entire future didn't depend on getting a Weasley to stop being stubborn...  
  
"You will spend the first moments finishing the Veritaserum antidote we began Monday. Those of you who have finished may read ahead to the next section on Fertility Potions - _silently_."  
  
Snape dropped into his chair, and Hermione pulled out her Potions textbook. She'd already read the chapter, of course, but doing other homework in Snape's NEWT-level Potions class was like asking someone nicely to decapitate you.  
  
Fertility potions... contraceptive potions... potions to conceive a boy, potions to conceive a girl, potions to conceive twins... Hermione's eyes scanned the text, not really reading, still thinking about Ron and Harry and the Binding and...  
  
_Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa._  
  
Hermione ripped a sheet of parchment out of her backpack, her quill working furiously, her eyes flying between the book and her work, that delicious tickle of I-might-be-on-to-something growing into a blaze behind her eyes as the sounds of the other students' incantations faded in her ears.  
  
Hermione's hand flew into the air. And wriggled.  
  
Snape noticed, sighed heavily, and crooked a finger towards her. Hermione slid carefully out behind the stirring, chanting students, approaching Snape's desk.  
  
"Professor," Hermione whispered, sliding the parchment in front of him. "Would you mind looking at this?"  
  
Snape took the parchment wearily, holding it up as if it were a particularly slimy beetle.  
  
"Your penmanship is atrocious, Miss Granger, you..."  
  
Snape stiffened, his eyes widening, leaning forward in his chair and bringing the parchment closer to his face. Hermione felt a white-hot thrill run down her spine... for Snape to look like _that_, it might actually work...  
  
"Where did you find this, Miss Granger?"  
  
"Well... I made it up. I was reading the next chapter..."  
  
"Ridiculous. Tell me where you found this."  
  
"I'm telling you, Professor, I made it up."  
  
"Rethink your lie, Miss Granger... some of these ingredients haven't even been covered in your book..."  
  
"Well... yes. But they were covered in _your_ book..."  
  
Snape's eyes flashed. "My book."  
  
"The one you wrote, sir. I read it first year, when I found out you were going to be my Potions professor."  
  
"You read _my book_. Your first year."  
  
"I didn't... I didn't understand it very well, then. So I've gone back and read it every summer, to see if I understood it more..."  
  
The corner's of Snape's mouth twitched. "You mean to say you've read my book six times."  
  
"Seven, sir... I started it the summer before Hogwarts. I bought it in Diagon Alley with the rest of my school supplies."  
  
Snape touched his temples, as if there were a pain there. "Miss Granger... you horrid, brownnosing, irritating know-it-all..."  
  
Hermione's stomach sank.  
  
"Fifty points to Gryffindor."  
  
Her breath caught. "It will work, then?"  
  
"Yes. It will work. Oh, go sit down, your gloating is repugnant."  
  
---  
  
"Severus?"  
  
Snape looked up at McGonagall, groaned, and went back to labeling bottles.  
  
"Hem-hem," McGonagall had perfected her Umbridge impression, and her eyes were twinkling.  
  
"Is it _required_ of all Gryffindors to preen in such a revolting fashion?"  
  
"_Fifty_ points, Severus? What on earth did Miss Granger do this time?"  
  
"She's found the closest thing to a loophole in that damnable Marriage Law that anyone has yet to come up with," Snape sneered. "From reading my book. Seven times. Reprehensible little suck-up."  
  
"From reading _your_ book?" McGonagall's dulcet tones held a near-crowing of delight. "Why Severus, it's a wonder you didn't think of it first."  
  
"I knew you were going to say that."  
  
"Has she really found a loophole, Severus?"  
  
"Something of one. She's invented a potion that will cause the drinker to conceive boy/girl twins the first time she... you know."  
  
McGonagall let out a breath. "Breaking the Binding on the wedding night? That's... brilliant."  
  
"Unfortunately, the Binding will hold until the children are delivered."  
  
"But nine months, Severus. That's such an improvement... these women will have their freedom back, their lives back, their... free will and _minds_ back, in less than a year!"  
  
"Their freedom, their lives, their free will and two squalling, shrieking brats to contend with."  
  
McGonagall's lips thinned. "Surely even you have to admit it's a brilliant idea."  
  
"I gave the points to Gryffindor, didn't I?"  
  
"Speaking of Miss Granger, Severus... Ron Weasley missed my class. Apparently, he's been throwing up since the start of last period?"  
  
"Minerva, you know as well as I do that half my function in this school is to play 'bad cop' to Albus Dumbledore. I've struck fear in his heart, and now Albus will offer him biscuits and kind, fatherly advice."  
  
"He will come around, won't he?"  
  
"He'll come around."  
  
---  
  
"And then Neville said the _funniest_ thing, Hermione, you won't believe it. He said 'Oh, Stinksap!'"  
  
Dorcas Limbergh-Longbottom burst into peals of hysterical laughter for the fifteenth time since Herbology had begun, and Hermione felt a migraine coming on.  
  
"Neville's just so _wonderful_, Hermione. I can't believe I never noticed it before. I mean, I think part of me always knew he was my soulmate... I was just so _blind_. How did I never notice how strong, and manly, and handsome he is? Just look at him, Hermione, over there, holding that plant. What a lucky, lucky plant! I do wish Professor Sprout had let me partner with him..."  
  
_I do too, Dorcas. You don't know how much. Did I ever think you were quiet?_  
  
"The thing about Neville that no one understands, Hermione -- well, no one except _me_, of course -- is that he's got such a... quiet bravery about him. And he's really quite dashing. And so charming. I can't believe I never saw it -- Merlin, to think of all the years I _wasted_ not being by his side..."  
  
"Dorcas," Hermione growled.  
  
"Oh, Hermione, I can't wait until you know the joys of marriage..."  
  
"Dorcas! You're making me contemplate suicide!"  
  
Hermione stiffened in horror as Dorcas suddenly flung her arms around her. "Oh Hermione, Hermione darling, I know you must have secretly been in love with Neville... I'm sure all you Gryffindors have it hard, having to be around him every day, wanting him and not being able to have him... it must be torture for you..."  
  
Hermione could only blink.  
  
"I'm sure you'll find some way to go on, Hermione. You must simply be brave."  
  
Dorcas gave Hermione's head a condescending pat and went back to gazing longingly at Neville.  
  
---  
  
_Oh, Ron! Your infantile scatological humor is soooooooo funny! Oh, Ron, it gives me chills when you chew with your mouth open! Oh Ron, take me, here in the middle of Transfiguration, I want to lick the freckles off your body!_  
  
Hermione's mood had gone from black, to really black, to some other color so black it could not be perceived by the human eye.  
  
_Oh, Ron! The way you hold that Quaffle! Oh, Ron! Let's have seventeen billion babies! We'll name them all after you, because I loooooooove you so much! Ron Junior, Ron The Third, Ron The Seventeen Billionth! Fill me with the hot seed of Weasley, you irresistable manhunk!_  
  
Hermione kicked a rock with her shoe, sending it sailing off.  
  
_Oh, Ron! I can't bear to be apart from you for a moment! Let me hold your hand while you go to the lavatory, please!_  
  
"Fifty points from Gryffindor for confusing your Professor and a football goal, Miss Granger."  
  
Hermione's head shot up, her eyes flashing. "Been waiting to take those off all day, haven't you? Piss off, Snape."  
  
Shock flared over Snape's face, but he composed himself quickly. "Fifty points for impertinence."  
  
Red flashed behind Hermione's eyes even as panic welled within her, The Old Hermione screaming in horror.  
  
_You just insulted a teacher you just insulted a teacher oh my god oh my god oh my god..._  
  
Unfortunately for Old Hermione, New Pissed Off Hermione was running the mouth. "Well, I wouldn't want to rob you of your favorite activity... so how about... rot in hell?"  
  
"Fifty more points," Snape purred, lips twitching.  
  
_He's trying not to laugh. That nasty, creepy bastard is laughing at me._  
  
Hermione crossed her arms, dropping her voice into her best impression of Snape's own. "You're _laboring under the delusion_ that this isn't what I want, _Snape_. I rather think you need to take off _more_ points. I'd _love_ to watch my house lose the House Cup. Think of all the _sobbing Weasleys_."  
  
Snape smiled like a panther. "Who said I was taking them _off_, Miss Granger? I was putting them _on_."  
  
Hermione's jaw dropped. "You _live_ to be abhorrent, don't you?"  
  
"You should watch yourself, Miss Granger. If you continue to be this surly and unpleasant, you just might convince me that you're my soulmate." Snape grinned his most unpleasant grin. "I shall be forced to battle Weasley for your hand."  
  
Snape watched her, letting his words soak in. "Detention. My office. Now."  
  
---  
  
New Pissed-Off Hermione was rapidly losing her nerve as Snape slammed and locked both doors with a wave of his wand, glowering at her.  
  
Old Hermione was no help; she hadn't stopped shrieking in horror the whole walk down here.  
  
"Sit down, Miss Granger," Snape snapped. "Have a biscuit."  
  
Hermione dropped into a chair, gaping.  
  
"They're not poisonous." Snape prodded the tin in her direction.  
  
"Am I going to... scrub cauldrons or..."  
  
"No, you're going to eat a biscuit, and we are going to have a _chat_."  
  
Hermione looked at the tin suspiciously. "What... what kind are they?"  
  
"Spiderwebs and beetle brains, yum-yum, my favorite," Snape drawled. "You Gryffindors are all alike. They're dark chocolate raspberry, _eat one_."  
  
Hermione tried to keep her hand from trembling as she took a biscuit, nibbling on the edge tentatively.  
  
"Miss Granger, you were in a... rather uncharacteristic mood this afternoon. Explain yourself."  
  
"Why are you being nice to me?"  
  
"Miss Granger, when I'm being nice, you'll know it. This isn't it. Now explain yourself."  
  
"I was partnered with Dorcas Longbottom in Herbology... and I nearly slapped her."  
  
It might have been her imagination, but Snape's eyes seemed to dance. "And why would you do such a thing?"  
  
"Because she was... crammed up Neville's ass!"  
  
"An colorful metaphor. Explain."  
  
"She wouldn't shut it. 'Oh Neville's so handsome, Neville's so wonderful, Neville's so smart'... it was revolting."  
  
"For once we are in accord, Miss Granger. And you fear that you'll be reduced to the same state over Mr. Weasley?"  
  
"Well... yes. Basically."  
  
"Fortunately for you, Miss Granger, you're not the only one who makes up Potions." Snape slid a glass bottle across the desk towards her.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Something of my own devising. And I think it goes without saying that if you tell anyone I've given it to you, I'll be forced to make you quite dead."  
  
"This... keeps me from being Bound?"  
  
"Unfortunately, no. It _will_ take a bit of the edge off. Call it a first draft."  
  
"Why... why would you do this?"  
  
"You have a fine mind, Miss Granger. Waste repulses me. And a decade of being, to borrow your colorful phrase, _crammed up Voldemort's ass_, has left me with a... shall we say, certain dislike for servitude."  
  
Hermione's eyes filled with tears.  
  
"Oh, for God's sakes, don't start snivelling," Snape groaned. "Take it tonight; you won't want to, once you're Bound. Take it alone, in your room. It will probably make you somewhat ill."   
  
---  
  
_Somewhat ill? Somewhat ill?_  
  
Hermione let out a moan, clutched in the fetal position in the center of her bed. It felt like red-hot blades were stabbing her in the stomach; she'd lost count of the number of times she'd thrown up, the number of times she'd blacked out.  
  
_If this is 'somewhat ill', then Voldemort is 'a bit of a git'... Snape, you horrid ass..._  
  
Hermione cracked her eyelids, groaning at the sight of dawn at the window. She'd been up all night, she had a Prefects meeting...  
  
_I'm going to kill him. No, I'm going to do worse than that, I'm going to make him drink this._  
  
She couldn't even go to Madame Pomfrey, then she'd have to tell her how she got like this...  
  
Maybe Snape was afraid Ron wouldn't come through and had decided to off her...  
  
There was a loud pop, and Hermione let out a little groan.  
  
"Oh Dobby, good, I was hoping my death would have witnesses..."  
  
"Dobby is bringing you something, Miss Hermione."  
  
A bottle, blissfully cool, was pressed into her hand. Hermione raised it to her lips; it tasted of oranges and strawberries, and she felt her stomach unwind and uncramp.  
  
"Dobby..." she croaked, "Thank you. How'd you know I was sick?"  
  
"Dobby has been checking on you, Miss Hermione."  
  
Hermione blinked. "You've been checking on me? I didn't see you."  
  
"Dobby was only here in bits and pieces, Miss Hermione. Dobby was mostly taking care of Mister Severus."  
  
The first name took Hermione a moment to translate. "Waiting on Snape? That must have been horrid. I suppose he kicked you halfway across the dungeons for burning his toast?"  
  
"Dobby does not burn toast, Miss Hermione." Dobby looked offended at the very thought. "And Mister Severus would not kick Dobby if he did."  
  
"I wouldn't test that theory, Dobby," Hermione laughed weakly.  
  
"Mister Severus has always been very nice to Dobby."  
  
"Professor Snape? Nice? You're not with the Malfoys any more, Dobby. You don't have to beat yourself with a candlestick if you tell the truth about someone."  
  
"Dobby is telling the truth, Miss Hermione. Mister Severus has always been very kind to Dobby, even when Dobby lived with the Malfoys. Gave Dobby a hat, Mister Severus did! Would Miss Hermione like to see?"  
  
"Maybe later, Dobby, I'm..."  
  
"Had me send you this potion, Mister Severus did."  
  
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Snape had a cure all this time and he just now sent it up?"  
  
Dobby lowered his voice. "Got called out last night, Mister Severus did. Dobby did not get to tell Mister Severus how ill Miss Hermione was until moments ago. Dobby nearly cried when Dobby saw him this morning, Miss Hermione."  
  
"He was hurt?"  
  
"Mister Severus is always hurt, Miss Hermione. This was worse."  
  
And with a pop, Dobby was gone.  
  
Hermione rolled onto her side with a little moan, her eyes widening as she saw what was outside the window.  
  
Owls.  
  
More owls.  
  
Hundreds of owls.  
  
---  
  
"Ron, don't be a prat!" Ginny's voice echoed around the Common Room. "I'm mad too, but you can't let her marry Snape!"  
  
Hermione paused on the staircase. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to walk into on a good day... let alone one she'd spent not sleeping, puking, passing out, and then getting nearly smothered in an avalanche of Marriage Bids.  
  
"Why not?" Ron said. "Just think of the children! They'll have his nose, her teeth, and great big greasy poofy hair! They'll be the ugliest little beasts that ever took points off Gryffindor."  
  
Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes, one hand flying unconsciously to cover her teeth. There was nothing wrong with them anymore!   
  
Was there?  
  
"Ron, you're not being fair. Look, at least talk to Harry, get his side of the story..."  
  
"Oh, and I suppose he's given it to you? And I suppose you just rolled over and forgave him? I forgot, The Great Harry Potter can do no wrong!"  
  
"This isn't about that and you know it!"  
  
Hermione turned on her heel, heading back up to her bedroom... then took a deep breath, turned around, and marched down the stairs.  
  
If she could tell Professor Snape to sod off, she could bloody well handle some Weasleys.  
  
"Good morning," she said crisply, watching both Weasleys flush for different reasons.  
  
"G-good morning, Hermione," Ginny said tentatively. "Uh... how are you?"  
  
"Oh, you know," Hermione replied. "Poofy. It's just so bloody hard to walk without tripping over my teeth. But, on the plus side, I get to shag Snape in few days, so..."  
  
Exeunt and _slam_!  
  
Hermione hefted her backpack a little higher, completely unable to wipe the smirk off her face.  
  
_You realize that was probably the utterly wrong way to handle that, right?_  
  
Hermione emphatically told her inner voice to shut the hell up.  
  
---  
  
"Did Dobby say how badly he was hurt?"  
  
"No specifics. He just said worse than usual. I don't even know if we're having class this afternoon. How about this one, Harry?"  
  
Harry shook his head at the parchment she held up. "Death Eater."  
  
"Do you have them all memorized?"  
  
"You have your things you study, I have mine." Harry opened another parchment and winced. "This one's included a photo." He tossed it onto the reject pile on the floor.  
  
"Wait, Harry, let me see... what does he look like?"  
  
"Wasn't a photo of his _face_, Hermione."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Exactly." Harry dug into the pile again, broke another seal. "I hope it's not as bad as last summer."  
  
"Hope what isn't as bad as last summer?" Hermione plucked another scroll off the pile at the center of the bed.  
  
"Snape. Last summer, while you were at your parents, he Flooed into Grimmauld Place about half-dead."  
  
"What are they doing to him?"  
  
"Oh, I can guess," Harry replied darkly, tossing another parchment onto the reject pile.  
  
"Why are there so many of these?" Hermione sighed, taking another one off the pile.  
  
Harry looked up, a little grin creasing his face. "You honestly don't know how pretty you are, do you?"  
  
"Ron certainly doesn't think so." Hermione cracked another scroll.  
  
"Y'know... I rather think this situation indicates otherwise."  
  
Hermione filled him in on the conversation she'd heard that morning.  
  
"Hermione... he's just hurt. He didn't mean any of that..."  
  
"Do other people think that? That my teeth are huge, and my hair is... poofy?"  
  
"Well, your teeth aren't huge anymore."  
  
"And my hair?" Hermione asked archly.  
  
"Is kinda poofy. Why don't you just..."  
  
"Just... what?"  
  
"Criniscuro," Harry said, flicking his wand at her.  
  
Hermione's scalp tingled, and she seized a piece of her hair, holding it before her eyes...  
  
Her shiny, curly, totally non-poofy hair.  
  
"Harry Potter. Do you want to explain to me why you know _hairdressing_ charms?"  
  
"I heard Lavender Brown do it once. I thought it might make my hair lie flat."  
  
"Did it?"  
  
"Not... exactly..."  
  
"Harry... is this why you wore that ridiculous hat last March?"  
  
"Yeah." Harry tossed another scroll on the reject pile.  
  
"Honestly, Harry, are you even _reading_ them before you reject them?"  
  
"I'm reading them."  
  
"I haven't got much time left, Harry. If Ron doesn't bid... I've got to find someone else."  
  
"Hermione..."  
  
"Oh, don't take that tone, I know that tone, that's your 'you're not going to like this, but' tone..."  
  
"You're not going to like this, but..."  
  
"Not. Snape."  
  
Harry merely gave his most maddeningly know-it-all look... the one he'd picked up from her.  
  
"Harry, I can't believe you of all people... he's picked on you more than anyone..."  
  
"I know. But he's right, there is a war on. And if that Potion works the way you think it will... Hermione, wouldn't you be better off with someone who's as eager to get out of the marriage as you are, who hates this law as much as you do, who'll let you off the hook as soon as possible, who wouldn't interfere with you afterwards?"  
  
"Harry. This is _Professor Snape_ we're talking about."  
  
"And he's a cruel bastard and I don't deny that for one moment. I don't really like this idea any better than you do, or Ron does. But he's older, more powerful, and could protect you. From what you told me, he doesn't want to shag you any more than you want to get shagged; that means you'd only have to do it once, unlike..."  
  
Harry gestured to the mounds of scrolls in the reject pile.  
  
"Unlike what these others want to do to you. Do you remember what you said to me, that night... well, the night that we..."  
  
Harry's face flamed.  
  
"I said a lot of things that night, Harry," Hermione said gently.  
  
"I was just thinking of one. What you said, talking about being Bound to Ron, about how his dreams would become your dreams... how you'd become 'practically perverted over Quidditch'..."  
  
Harry broke another seal, not quite meeting Hermione's eyes. "I just thought you'd enjoy being perverted for reading and study and Potions rather more, that's all... since you already are. You'd have the babies right after your NEWTs, wouldn't you? Think about how much you'd _learn_ in the meantime, Bound to the greatest Potions Master of the age..."  
  
"You are being very Slytherin," Hermione announced, eyes narrowed. "Very."  
  
Harry shrugged. "Was almost sorted in, you know."  
  
"Harry, I'd be raising _baby Snapes_. They'd take points off every time I made them go to bed."  
  
"I'm not allowed to laugh at that, am I?"  
  
"No." Hermione cracked another scroll. "Well, I suppose you can chuckle. Once."  
  
"You're very generous. I suppose you realize... as his House-Head's wife, Draco Malfoy would be required to kiss your ass _completely_?"  
  
"Your necktie's turning green, Potter."  
  
"Actually... you know who I sound like."  
  
Hermione chucked another scroll on the reject pile. "And who might that be?"  
  
"You. Or what you'd be telling me to do, were I in your shoes."  
  
"And if you were me? Would you get buggered by Snape for the cause?"  
  
"I'll have nightmares for weeks because you said that."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
An owl flew in through the window, depositing a note in Hermione's lap.  
  
"Who's that from?"  
  
Hermione turned it over. "Professor Snape."  
  
"Oh? What's he want?"  
  
"He fancies you and wants to bugger you for the cause."  
  
Harry threw a pillow at her head.  
  
"He wants me to Monitor for him in class today."  
  
"I'd believe the buggering bit first."  
  
"You would. I've got to go then, I have to get ingredients out."  
  
She slid off the bed, grabbing her backpack.  
  
"Hermione..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You know this is all theoretical, right? Ron will come around."  
  
"Sure, Harry." Hermione pulled her backpack on, smiling at him. "Sure."  
  
But she wasn't sure at all.


	4. Naughty Bits

A/N: Regarding the WIKTT Marriage Law Challenge  
  
I attempted (and failed) to find the precise rules of the Marriage Law Challenge, so I just used the gist of it as I picked it up from other Marriage Law fics and discussions about it I saw on mailing lists. I think the challenge might actually be over, so I don't feel as badly about buggering it for the cause.  
  
Here's what I understand it to be:  
  
The Purebloods have interbred exclusively for so long that they're starting to have the same problems as royal families that do this. Lots o' Squibs, etc. Thus, Fudge passes The Marriage Law, that requires Muggleborns to marry Purebloods and make babies. I gather there's usually some kind of magical incentive in there, but people seem to pick different ones, so I figured that was up for grabs and added the nasty House-Elf Binding, the Unforgivables, etc.  
  
Many thanks to RowanRhys for defending me against the threat of harm to my person if this turned into a Snape/Hermione story. As she pointed out, it's clearly labeled as one.  
  
The FFnet/LnLS chapter discrepancy that has been pointed out is because I was not yet a validated author at LnLS. As of posting this, it looks like I am now, so chapters will be appearing at the same time.   
  
----------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Anthony, Anthony, wait..." Hermione stopped Anthony Goldstein's hand at the brink of disaster. "The rose leaves go in first."  
  
"Oh. Yeah. Uh, thanks, Hermione."  
  
"No problem."  
  
Hermione circled the room, trying her damndest not to loom. "Parvati? You need to mince those a little finer."  
  
Parvati shot her an irritated look, and Hermione groaned inwardly. This was _too_ weird. Hermione was trying like hell to be nice -- if anything, just to prove you could teach this class without being an absolute ass...  
  
"Malfoy? What the hell do you think _strain_ means?"  
  
Except that she wasn't doing such a good job.  
  
Draco gave her a lazy once-over. "I'd say 'strain' was having four days to convince Ron Weasley that I wasn't a massive whore."  
  
"Ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione spat. "And from now on, kindly remember that when I am teaching, the lesson is not coming out of my nipples."  
  
It wasn't fair. She hadn't slept, she'd been sick, she had wizards who made Dumbledore look nubile sending her photos of their naughty bits...  
  
"Ernie? You'll blow us all to bits if you add that now."  
  
Whatever Ernie muttered, Hermione had a feeling it wasn't complimentary, and her eyes narrowed.  
  
She'd have an easier time being nice if they didn't keep _screwing up_ all the time. Honestly! The potion was so simple if you'd just follow the instructions!  
  
Hermione looked down at her wristwatch and let out a sigh of relief.  
  
"All right, everyone, pack up," she announced, sitting down in Snape's chair and rubbing her temples... hearing a titter of laughter in the back of the classroom.   
  
_Of course. This is what _Snape_ always does at the end of class..._  
  
Hermione carefully changed her posture, trying to look an Unsnapeish as possible, trying not to flinch as Parvati hissed "Sheesh, she's like his clone..." to Ernie as they packed up their cauldrons.  
  
_Oh, you think I'm his clone _now_, Parvati? Wait and see if I ever have to do this again..._  
  
Hermione caught herself, blanching at the thoughts in her head, remembering something from an old Muggle movie... _anger will lead you to the Dark Side_...  
  
_I. Am. Not. Like. Snape._  
  
When the classroom finally emptied, Hermione heaved a sigh of relief, gathering jars of ingredients onto a tray and heading back into Snape's storeroom. Heaven help her if she put anything back in the wrong place; of course, Snape made it easy, with his neatly-labeled jars, his alphabetical organization, his color-coded labels to warn of effects. She couldn't have done it better herself.  
  
Hermione cast a quick Scourgify on the floor, glancing around, making sure everything was where it needed to be... and her eye caught a graceful silver bowl, lying atop a desk.  
  
_If you'll excuse me, I have some business with my Pensieve if I'm to make it through class without vomiting..._  
  
She'd thought he was just trying to hurt her feelings... had he honestly put away the mental pictures he'd had to conjure up for Ron?   
  
What had he been thinking about?  
  
She took a step forward, then stopped herself.  
  
_That's his private business. Besides, for all you know, you could find yourself stuck in a memory of getting Cruciatus cast on you by Voldemort... Merlin only knows what he keeps in there, what he wants out of his head..._  
  
On the other hand... if Ron didn't come around...  
  
Snape was one of her options... a totally mysterious, unknown option...  
  
Oughtn't she find out what she could be getting herself into?  
  
_Don't do it, Hermione..._  
  
Hermione pulled out her wand.  
  
_Don't do it, Hermione..._  
  
Hermione stuck her wand into the Pensieve and stirred...  
  
---  
  
She was in a dark room, somewhere she knew...  
  
_Grimmauld Place_.  
  
Harry slept, unaware, in one of the twin beds, his messy hair stuck out all over the pillow...  
  
And Snape watched him from the doorway, silently, a look of...  
  
_Oh, she'd never seen Snape look at Harry like that._  
  
Hell, she'd never seen Snape look at _anyone_ like that.  
  
That was how _Lupin_ looked at Harry, how _Molly_ looked at Harry, how _Sirius_ used to look at Harry... that fierce, protective, _caring_...  
  
What the hell?  
  
Snape murmured something and turned from the doorway back into the hall...  
  
---  
  
She was in Dumbledore's office, watching Snape and Dumbledore laugh themselves silly over something, Snape nearly bent over from mirth, Dumbledore chuckling and throwing a sherbert lemon in the air to catch it on his tongue...  
  
---  
  
She was in Madame Pomfrey's infirmary, watching Snape pace among the beds. She recognized the petrified forms upon them... Colin Creevey, herself...  
  
"Dammit, Granger," Snape whispered, and reached down to move a lock of her hair away from her face...  
  
---  
  
Snape was in his office, offering her a biscuit, giving her the potion...  
  
---  
  
Snape was muttering furiously, his eyes locked on Harry, trying to undo the hex on Harry's broom...  
  
---  
  
Snape was in his office, reading an essay... the handwriting revealed it to be hers... and sat back in his chair, a look of pure pleasure across his face...  
  
---  
  
Snape, Flitwick, Quirrell, and McGonagall, having a... picnic? Quirrell's voice was completely different, smooth and sure, his long brown hair flowing free behind him. Snape made a snarky comment, and the other three teachers burst out laughing...  
  
---  
  
Snape running through the tunnel in the Shrieking Shack to save them from Sirius Black...  
  
---  
  
Hermione yanked her wand out of the Pensieve, breathing hard. Why... what the...   
  
Everything in there was good! She'd expected horrid memories, Death Eater meetings...  
  
_This is everything Snape doesn't want Voldemort to see._  
  
Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth. If Snape's Occulmency ever failed...  
  
_He's been removing all his good memories, all his happy memories, all memories of him being nice or caring or concerned. If Voldemort breaks into his mind, all he'll see is Snape being horrid to Harry, horrid to everyone..._  
  
Oh my God.  
  
Hermione sat down heavily, trying to imagine living her life with every happy memory removed from her head. It'd be like being under a Dementor attack, all the time...  
  
_What if he's horrid to you because he needs to be, Hermione? What if he's such a wretched ass because he needs those memories, lots of them, to make up for everything he's taking out? Voldemort would suspect something if Snape blocked his Legilimency completely, wouldn't he? Snape needs real memories to feed him, memories of Harry suffering at Snape's hands, memories that will make Voldemort happy..._  
  
But this wasn't what Harry had seen in Snape's Pensieve at all! Harry had seen horrid things, seen his father and Sirius torturing Snape, seen...  
  
Hermione blinked.  
  
_Wait a damn minute._  
  
Why would Snape not want Harry to see that? If Snape hated Sirius, hated James, why wouldn't he want Harry to hate them too? Harry had been so confused, so angry, so conflicted after he saw that memory... wouldn't that be exactly what Snape would _want_?   
  
And yet he took it out.  
  
Hermione wanted to see it. Was it still in there?  
  
Hermione stuck her wand in, stirring, trying to set her mind on it...  
  
---  
  
"Severus. Tell me you're kidding."  
  
Hermione really _was_ confused now. That was a younger Snape, she guessed... he looked to be even younger than her... but the woman he was having the hushed conversation with looked for all the world like _Tonks_...  
  
And they were in the Muggle World, some sort of pub, and the Tonks-who-wasn't was pushing a pram back and forth with her foot.  
  
"I'm not, Andromeda. I'm the only one who can get in. You'll need a different Secret-Keeper."  
  
"Severus, it is _too dangerous_. You're too young..."  
  
"I'm the only one who can get in."  
  
"They're going to be so confused, Severus," Andromeda said mournfully. "And Lily..."  
  
"Potter will take care of her."  
  
"Severus, you're not seriously going to..."  
  
"Potter will take care of her. Andy, I've got to go."  
  
The young Snape stood up and kissed the woman on the temple...  
  
---  
  
CRASH!  
  
The young Snape dodged an ink bottle hurled at his head, black smearing all over a stone wall...  
  
"Your aim is lousy, Mudblood," Snape said coldly.  
  
"I HATE YOU!" screamed a redheaded girl, her hands curled into furious fists. A prefect's badge glittered on her Gryffindor robes.  
  
"Then I suppose I should leave," Snape purred. "Good day, Evans."  
  
"Burn in hell, Snape!"  
  
"Oh... I'm sure I will."  
  
The redhead started sobbing, turning away from him, unable to see the look of longing that crossed Snape's face...  
  
---  
  
A step in the hallway.  
  
Hermione yanked her wand out of the Pensieve, hurriedly stuffing it back in her robes. She was over by a shelf of ingredients when McGonagall swished into the office.  
  
"Hello, Miss Granger... how was class?"  
  
_Act normal, Hermione..._  
  
"It was fine, but I'm starting to understand why Snape loses his temper so often."  
  
_Well, that's true. Truer than I ever thought it would be, but true..._  
  
McGonagall's mouth twitched. "Indeed? Well, I see you've tidied up to Professor Snape's standards, I really shouldn't have bothered checking. Can I walk you to dinner?"  
  
Hermione resisted the urge to glance longingly at the Pensieve. "Thank you, Professor."  
  
---  
  
"What's this?" McGonagall asked, one eyebrow soaring.  
  
They hadn't even reached the Great Hall yet, and already boisterous singing could be heard.  
  
"I believe that's... um... 'Weasley Is Our King', Professor."  
  
"So it is, Miss Granger. So it is."  
  
"I'm... uh... suddenly not so hungry, Professor. I think I'll just head up to the Tower."  
  
"Miss Granger, you've skipped every meal for days. Your absence is only making the rumors worse, you know."  
  
"Right." Hermione gulped as McGonagall glided through the doors...  
  
"HERMIONE!" Ron bellowed.  
  
Hermione flinched... then her eyes widened as Ron came galloping up to her, and threw his arms around her.  
  
"Ron?"  
  
"Hermione, I'm sorry, I am, I've been such a prat, what I said was utter crap, your teeth are fantastic, honestly... you won't believe it!"  
  
"Won't believe what?"  
  
"I've been signed! By the Cannons!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I've been signed by the Cannons! I'm going to be their new Keeper! Hermione, isn't it amazing?"  
  
"That's -- that's amazing, Ron..."  
  
"We're having a party up in the Common Room after dinner. You'll help me pack, right? You're the utter best at that..."  
  
"P-pack?"  
  
"I'm leaving school. I'm starting training. Mum's a bit pissed, but honestly, like I was gonna pull a Percy on my NEWTs, right?"  
  
"You're... you're leaving?"  
  
"Oh, Hermione, right... don't worry. I talked to Dumbledore, he's going to set us up a Portkey, you won't have to come with me unless you want to, I know how you are about the NEWTs. He gave me another marriage bid, too, I'll sign it before I leave. I'm sorry I worried you... honestly, I am... I just... well, I guess you know now that I kind of..."  
  
"Weasley, check it out!"  
  
Someone had conjured an illusion of Ron riding his broom, in full Chudley Cannons regalia. It soared around the Great Hall, ducking and weaving through the masses of red-and-gold fireworks.  
  
Hermione gave Ron a big hug. "Ron, that's fantastic, really. I'm going to get something to eat, okay?"  
  
"Right, straight. Oh, Hermione, eat a lot -- Harry's sneaking into Hogsmeade for Butterbeer..."  
  
Hermione nodded numbly, weaving her way through the singing, exultant Gryffindors to the only vacant spot at the Gryffindor table...  
  
Oh, no.  
  
Right next to Dorcas Longbottom.  
  
"Hermione!" Dorcas squealed. "Isn't it lovely about Ron? You must be chuffed! Have a seat!"  
  
Hermione sat down heavily, reaching for her pumpkin juice.  
  
"You know, Neville always said Ron was fantastic at Quidditch. You must be so excited about getting to go on the road with the Cannons!"  
  
"I'm not," Hermione said flatly, spooning Shepherd's Pie onto her plate. "I'm staying here until I finish school."  
  
"You're joking."  
  
"No, I'm not."  
  
"Well..." Dorcas sighed. "I suppose that makes sense. I suppose you wouldn't feel the same way about Ron as I feel about Neville... after all, Neville's so perfect. I couldn't imagine being away from Neville that long, honestly... I was going to sit with my own house, y'know, but I just felt so _bereft_, so far away from Neville..."  
  
"You felt _bereft_... twenty feet away?"  
  
Dorcas gave her an all-knowing smile. "Oh, Hermione. When it's true love, you feel bereft five feet away. If you loved Ron as much as I love Neville, you'd want to follow the team."  
  
"I _want_ to take my NEWTs."  
  
"Well... you wouldn't. That's all I'm saying..." Dorcas' eyes narrowed. "Why is Parvati hugging Neville?"  
  
"Everybody's hugging everybody..."  
  
"Excuse me," Dorcas snapped, swinging off the bench and stalking towards Parvati.  
  
Hermione stared into her plate, her mouth suddenly dry, the thought of food suddenly nauseating.


	5. All That Bit

A/N: Thanks a million to Jaya, hasapi, and Silver, who pointed me at the actual Marriage Law rules, almost all of which I seem to be breaking. Oops.  
  
------------------------------------------  
  
There was a soft knock at her door, a crack of light.  
  
Hermione blinked. "Hey, Ron."  
  
"Hey, Hermione. Sorry to wake you up... I just came to bring you that bid." Ron slipped into her room, setting the parchment on her bureau. "Are you feeling any better?"  
  
Hermione struggled up, rubbing at her eyes. "Yeah... or rather, I will... I just needed some sleep, I didn't sleep at all last night..."  
  
"I'm so sorry I scared you, Hermione." Ron sat down on the edge of her bed. "I wouldn't have made you marry Snape, y'know."  
  
"Well, you didn't have any problem letting me think that," Hermione pointed out.  
  
Ron gulped. "I deserved that, Hermione, I'm sorry. It's just... maybe I should have told you how I felt about you, I thought you knew..."  
  
"I didn't."  
  
"I know that now. Look, I've been talking to Harry a bit. And he told me what you said, how you didn't think I wanted to marry you, how you thought I was just doing it to save you... and... and how the... the thing with him was, y'know, because you, uh... well... wanted your first time to be, um, of your, y'know, own free will."  
  
"That's not quite what..."  
  
"I'm so sorry I didn't think about that, Hermione. I should have."  
  
"You're not required to be psychic, Ron."  
  
"Anyway, I was thinking. Uh... I was thinking, well. If you wanted to... _we_ could... y'know, before... and that way it'd be of your own free will and stuff, y'know..."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"If you wanted to. Y'know. Before."  
  
Hermione blinked at him. "Ron, I just woke up. Make whole sentences."  
  
"If you wanted to, y'know. Shag. Before the Binding. And stuff."  
  
To Hermione's horror, Ron began undoing his robe. "I figured that way, it'd be, y'know, better, of your own free will and stuff, like you told Harry..."  
  
"Ron." Hermione's hand shot out, stopping his. "I didn't even _really_ want to shag Harry. I just wanted to do something rebellious, that wasn't what I was being told to do..."  
  
Ron looked hurt. "You don't want to?"  
  
"Well, Ron... I'm still kind of sick, and you're drunk... how did you get drunk, anyway?"  
  
"Got an owl from Fred and George. They sent... supplies."  
  
"Figures."  
  
"Well... I mean... we're gonna have to, in three days... wouldn't you rather do it now?"  
  
"I... well... honestly, Ron, not really, I still feel pretty sick."  
  
Ron sighed. "Honestly, me too. Do you mind if I stay here with you? Your bathroom's so much closer."  
  
"You're going to be sick?"  
  
"Yeah, I think so."  
  
Hermione shook her head. "Of course you can stay, Ron. Just... I don't think we ought to, it wouldn't be very romantic if we puked on each other during, would it?"  
  
Ron laughed. "I guess not. Definitely a bonding experience, though."  
  
"Not sure if it's the right _kind_ of bonding..."  
  
"It'll be romantic when we do it though, Hermione, I swear. I'll get... candles, or something. Candles are romantic, right?"  
  
"Yeah, candles are romantic."  
  
Ron scratched his nose. "Roses, all that bit. I'll figure it out... oh, bloody hell..."  
  
And with that, Ron leapt up and headed for her bathroom.  
  
Hermione winced at the loud sounds of Ron vomiting, sliding over to make room for Ron on the side closest to the bathroom.  
  
_Oh, Ron... the sound of your vom hitting the basin makes my heart skip a beat... oh, Ron, I'd just looooove to 'shag before the Binding', you always know just what to say... oh Ron..._  
  
---  
  
"Feels so weird with Ron gone," Harry said quietly, poking his eggs with his fork.  
  
"I know."  
  
"Maybe I could go with you sometimes, when you Portkey to see him?"  
  
"Sure, Harry, that'd be great."  
  
"Not all the time, of course." Harry gave her what she thought would have been a wicked grin, if there hadn't been so much... something else in his eyes. "Spent the night in your room last night, did he?"  
  
"My lav was closer. He puked all night."  
  
"Ouch." And now Harry's grin did look wicked. "_I_ slept better, though."  
  
"You might have warned me that he snored."  
  
"It's not all the time. He's got allergies. It really only acts up when he's been playing..." Harry stopped, smiling a little. "Well, I suppose it will be all the time."  
  
"Marvelous," Hermione drawled, popping her last bit of toast in her mouth.  
  
"But at least everything's all settled, and you don't have to marry Snape."  
  
"I don't... I don't know about that, Harry."  
  
Harry took a sip of his pumpkin juice, not saying anything.  
  
"Harry, I expected you to be a bit more surprised."  
  
"She's driving Neville insane, you know."  
  
"You noticed."  
  
"Hard not to notice. Y'know she's quit going to her Divination class? Dropped it. She just sits in Care of Magical Creatures, staring at Neville. You should hear what Malfoy calls her."  
  
"I'd rather not."  
  
"No, I suspect you wouldn't. If it makes you feel any better, Hermione, Justin Finch-Fletchley told me that Dorcas was always a bit codependent. Actually he said he dated her once and she made him feel so smothered he nearly ripped off his own face to get away."  
  
"Is that why he didn't Bid for her?"  
  
"Yeah. He felt rotten about it, but y'know. Think he fancies Hannah Abbott, anyway."  
  
"She said she felt 'bereft' sitting at the Hufflepuff table."  
  
Harry swallowed a bite of eggs, his eyes on her. "What are you thinking?"  
  
"I'm just thinking about what you said. I'm thinking about how with Snape, I'd be done by the end of the school year. I'm thinking about how in the hell would I ask Ron Weasley for a divorce, especially now that I know..."  
  
"You know that he likes you. And you don't like him."  
  
Hermione blinked. "How'd you know?"  
  
"You wouldn't have kissed me if you did."  
  
"Oh," Hermione said, then sighed. "Harry, what if I get Bound to Ron and can't bear to be at Hogwarts? What if I want to do nothing but follow him around a Quidditch pitch? What if I blow off my NEWTs because I feel 'bereft' in class? Nine months later, I'm UnBound, I'm a dropout, I've got two babies, no NEWTs, I'd be unable to get any sort of job I actually wanted, and worse, I'd _care_ about all that again. It'd be like some lovesick Dorcas Longbottom invaded my body for nine months and made it piss away everything I'd worked for..."  
  
"Sounds like you've already made your decision."  
  
"No... no I haven't, really, I'm just thinking out loud. I mean... the alternative is Snape. And... he's Snape. Also... he's Snape. And besides... he's Snape."  
  
"Those are three very good points. I mean... the man hates us."  
  
"I don't... I don't know about that, Harry."  
  
Harry shot her a look. "You've found something out. What is it?"  
  
"I can't... I can't tell you right now, I need to sort things out a bit more. I'll tell you once I know better, Harry, honestly." Hermione gulped down the last of her juice. "I've got to go, I'm Monitoring for Snape again."  
  
"But you hated it last time!"  
  
"I know, I... I just needed to see something."  
  
---  
  
Hermione stood over the Pensieve, trying to focus her mind.  
  
_I need to know how Snape feels about me. I need to know how he'd treat me..._  
  
She dipped her wand and swirled...  
  
---  
  
She was in the dungeons... a bedroom...   
  
Hermione's eyes adjusted to the torchlight, taking in her unfamiliar surroundings. Bookshelves ringed every wall, a large stone fireplace crackled, and there was a large, green-canopied bed...  
  
Snape's room, maybe?  
  
There were noises coming from behind the canopy...  
  
Her heart thudding, Hermione walked towards the bed, stuck her face through the curtains...  
  
And saw herself.  
  
And Snape.  
  
_Oh, God, I found it. The picture Snape took out of his head before class..._  
  
Snape's lips were on her neck, the Other Hermione's head thrown back, panting, her fingers wound through Snape's hair, pulling him closer to her.   
  
Hermione watched as her legs slid up Snape's, coiling around his, their robes tangling, their bodies writhing against each other.  
  
And then...  
  
And then Snape raised himself off of her, propping himself up on an elbow, raising his hand, letting the back of his fingers brush down her cheek, his eyes warm, a smile on his lips.  
  
"Irritating little know-it-all," he laughed.  
  
"Greasy, grumpy, git," The Other Hermione replied, wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing him back down to her.  
  
"Ten points from Gryffindor for wearing... entirely... too much... clothing," Snape growled against her skin.  
  
"I'm about to get those points back," The Other Hermione purred.  
  
"Are you now?"  
  
"Oh, indeed."  
  
---  
  
Hermione yanked her wand out of the Pensieve, gasping. The Other Hermione had been on the verge of doing something very, very, very naughty to Snape that The Real Hermione had only ever read about in books.  
  
Hermione grabbed her backpack and ran out of Snape's office, pounding up the staircases.  
  
By the time she reached her room, she was quite out of breath.  
  
_Yeah, that's the only reason you're out of breath. Keep telling yourself that, Granger._  
  
She'd... well... she'd been sort of looking for that memory, hadn't she? And she'd found it... it just hadn't been anything like she'd expected.  
  
She'd thought she would see herself drugged up, unwilling, Snape lording his power over her as she responded to him against her will...  
  
She hadn't expected... laughing. Teasing. Snape to be so... well, Unsnapey. He'd caressed her cheek like... like he loved her or something, and the other her had been... well. Eager, for one thing.   
  
_Hermione, admit it, that was hot._  
  
Fine. Fine! That was hot.  
  
_You're thinking about his voice, aren't you? That low, velvet voice, the way it got all rough when he whispered against your neck... or maybe you're thinking about how your body rose beneath his fingers, like a cat begging to be petted?_  
  
Shut up, shut up, shut up!  
  
Hermione threw herself across her bed, willing her heart to slow down, willing her breath to quit coming out in little gasps.  
  
_Uh-oh. Looks like the little bookworm's got hormones..._  
  
She'd... well. She'd made sure she was _educated_ about this sort of thing, of course. Her parents had given her a large book that explained things quite clearly.  
  
But she hadn't ever kissed anyone until she'd kissed Harry. Oh, Krum had tried, but she'd always managed to ruin the moment. And even Harry hadn't felt like...  
  
It'd been warm, and nice... like a full-contact hug. And the kissing thing had been quite all right, a little wet, yeah, but not in a bad way, really. She'd mostly been thinking, y'know, trying to make her lips be where Harry's were going, and make sure their noses didn't collide, and remember what the steps in the process were... it'd been a while since she read that book. And she'd felt some new little tingles when she realized how worked-up she'd gotten him, but...  
  
Not like that. Not like this.  
  
Dammit, why hadn't she stayed and watched the rest of the memory?  
  
_All right, Hermione. You've seen yourself. Recast._  
  
Hermione tried to replace Snape's face with Ron's, imagine her and Ron all tangled like that, imagine her teasing him, imagine him dragging his fingers down her face...  
  
_That's gross._  
  
Whaddya mean, that's gross? And it's _not_ with Snape?  
  
Hermione crossed to her bureau and took out the only two Marriage Bids she hadn't chucked.  
  
_I can pick Ron. I know he'll be nice to me. I know he loves me. I'd get to be a Weasley, my kids would get to grow up in that big, happy house. And I'll probably drop out of school, and Ron won't want to divorce me when the Binding's over, and Molly will hate it if I want to get a proper job, and, oh god, the things my kids will learn from Uncle Fred and Uncle George..._  
  
Or I can pick Snape, stay in school, probably blow the lid off my Potions NEWT. He wouldn't _let_ me sog after him like Dorcas Longbottom... he's actively working on a potion to counteract the Binding...  
  
_But you know Ron. You know him. No matter what you saw in that Pensieve, Snape is a total question mark, a total mystery..._  
  
I like mysteries...  
  
_Ron is your friend. Ron will do right by you, or Harry will make him. It's safe._  
  
But that memory...  
  
_Don't think with your hormones, Granger..._  
  
Harry's not thinking with his hormones, and Harry thinks I ought to pick Snape. I can tell.  
  
_No, Harry's thinking like someone completely obsessed with killing Lord Voldemort. He's already lost one sidekick, and he doesn't want to lose another. He wants you at his side when Voldemort comes, and you will be, if you marry Snape. You won't be, if you marry Ron. Don't kid yourself into thinking Harry's impartial..._  
  
Hermione's eyes opened wide.   
  
_You will be, if you marry Snape. You won't be, if you marry Ron._  
  
Well. That was it, wasn't it? The beating heart of it.  
  
"You forget, brain," Hermione said aloud. "_I'm_ not impartial, either."  
  
Hermione pulled Snape's parchment towards her and signed it.


	6. The Ties That Bind

And... nothing happened.  
  
Hermione blinked. She'd expected... well... _something_. The scroll to vanish in a blinding flare of light, Ron to Floo in screaming, thunder and lightning or...  
  
Well, she'd at least expected to be pretty pervy over Snape.  
  
She tried thinking about Snape, experimentally. Nothing had changed there; he was still her grumpy bastard Potions professor, with his bad attitude and his condescending smirks and his brilliant mind and his sharp, regal features and his sensual, kissable lips...  
  
Uh-oh.  
  
She called up the vision she'd seen in the Pensieve, and that was the same too, except... huh. That little funny twingey feeling she'd had, that 'eww-that's-my-teacher-what's-wrong-with-me' feeling, had buggered off properly, and in its place was...  
  
Oh, huh.  
  
Very interesting things happening in her stomach, there.  
  
_Okay, Granger, this is not so bad. He was right; the potion took the edge off. You don't hate him as much as you did, you're not totally barmy over him either, and you... well... you sort of want to shag him. That's okay; you _have_ to shag him, so that works out. And, well, to be quite honest, you were sort of wanting to shag him before, weren't you? This is not so bad._  
  
Hermione collected the marriage bids briskly, sticking them back in her drawer. This was not so bad at all.  
  
_See? You made the right decision. As much as you loved Ron as a friend, you'd probably be Flooing to the Cannons practice pitch right now to snog him silly._  
  
Hermione stumbled, catching herself with a hand on the edge of the dresser. The minute the thought of kissing Ron had entered her mind, she'd felt a little nauseous.  
  
She recalled Arthur Weasley's voice: _There are... other compulsions. To ensure the, ah, production of children, and, um... faithfulness._  
  
Faithfulness. Right. She guessed she wouldn't be doing any more rolling around in the sculpture garden with...  
  
Hermione put her hand over her mouth, dry-heaving.  
  
_Okaaaaay. Apparently won't be revisiting_ that _memory too often. Maybe I ought to get a Pensieve of my own..._  
  
Still, though... not that bad, all things considered. She had a wee little crush on Snape now, and that was certainly manageable; she'd had a wee little crush on Lockhart, and he'd never even known...  
  
_Snape has to know, though._  
  
Oh.  
  
Hermione's knees gave out, and she sat down hard on the edge of the bed. She'd thought about the Binding, she'd thought about the babies, she'd thought about pretty much everything...  
  
_Except actually having to tell Snape that Ron had bid for her, and she'd married him instead._  
  
---  
  
Harry held the portrait open for her, looking at her curiously. "You okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine... why?"  
  
"You kept wincing during Transfiguration... you didn't eat much at breakfast."  
  
"It's girl stuff."  
  
"Girl stuff?"  
  
"I forgot, you're not Ron. Cramps."  
  
"Oh," Harry said stiffly. "Sorry."  
  
"I'm sure I'll miss them when I'm waddling around taking my NEWTs."  
  
Harry looked at her, seemed to look _through_ her. "You're being utterly weird, you know. Utterly. You look like your smile's being held in place with tape."  
  
"It's PMS."  
  
"Hermione. I see you _every day_. I know when you've got PMS, okay?"  
  
Hermione gritted her teeth as another sharp pain went through her leg. "You don't know."  
  
"All right, fine. Once a month, you lock yourself in your room gorging on Chocolate Frogs for no apparent reason that has nothing to do with anything. All I'm saying is that even then, you don't get all... creepily-manic-psycho-cheerful."  
  
"I'm a very pleasant person."  
  
"Well, yes... you are... but lately, y'know. I'd gotten a bit used to snarly Punk Rock Hermione, what gives?"  
  
Hermione leaned over, ignoring the intensifying pain in her side as she did. "I'm Bound to Snape. And Harry, it's not so bad... I think how much I don't like him is keeping me from... y'know... Dorcas-ing."  
  
Harry had to process that a moment. "You're Bound?"  
  
"I signed the contract yesterday."  
  
"What did Snape say?"  
  
"Well... I haven't told him."  
  
"He's married to you, and he doesn't know it?"  
  
"Well, we're not married-married, we don't have to get married-married, it's all a Ministry Binding, the Ministry doesn't care if I get dressed up and eat cake... I mean really, a ceremony's pointless, I think the whole thing is..."  
  
"You're babbling. You babble when you're in pain. How badly does it hurt?"  
  
"It's just cramps, Harry, honestly."  
  
Harry's eyes narrowed. "And you'd tell me if it wasn't, right?"  
  
"Sure. The thing is, Harry, I'm thinking... I'm thinking maybe I won't _have_ to tell him."  
  
"Hermione, you have to tell him."  
  
"Well, if I'm not going to be all... hopping about after him, then why? Why do I have to tell him? Maybe they'll repeal the law. That could happen, right?"  
  
"It is _way_ too late to chicken out of telling Snape."  
  
"I'm not chickening out! I just need some more time! I signed the contract too fast, I had a few more days, I should have waited, it's just not fair, it's -- oh..."  
  
Hermione sat down on the stairs abruptly.  
  
"Hermione! Have you seen Snape at all?"  
  
"He's sick, Harry, I don't want to bother him, the man's been Death Eatered, he doesn't need my problems, I think I should wait until he's better, don't you? I really think I should wait until he's better..."  
  
"This isn't cramps," Harry spat, "It's Cruciatus, and it's just going to get worse and worse... how many hours have you been Bound?"  
  
"I don't know. I can't remember."  
  
"Try."  
  
"I don't know, Harry! It hurts to think..."  
  
"Can you walk?"  
  
"Yes. No. Maybe?"  
  
Harry slung his backpack off, peeling hers off her shoulders before lifting her into his arms.  
  
"Harry..."  
  
"Shut it, Hermione. We've got to find Snape."  
  
"You're mad at me..." she whispered.  
  
"I'm not mad. I'm furious. There's a difference. You could have died!"  
  
There was something important, very important, she wanted to tell Harry, but she couldn't remember what it was... and it was getting so dark anyway, it didn't seem to matter...  
  
---  
  
Hermione's eyes fluttered open, and she recoiled at the sight of unfamiliar stonework above her. She tried to sit up, but something on her wrist was dragging her down...  
  
She stared at her wrist stupidly, comprehension dawning slowly...  
  
_They'd tied her to Snape._  
  
Small, thin ropes was wrapped and knotted around her arm and Snape's, holding them together.  
  
_Why in the hell would they..._  
  
Her eyes roamed from Snape's arm to his face, and Hermione gasped.  
  
A massive white bandage covered most of his forehead; his eyes were rimmed in purple, his skin even paler than usual. Shallow cuts gleamed angry red over his cheeks and throat.  
  
_If this is how he looks after he's been in Pomfrey's care for a few days... oh my God, what did he look like when he got back?_  
  
"Much worse, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said solemnly. "Much worse."  
  
Hermione whipped around. Dumbledore sat in an armchair by the fire, regarding her over the tops of his glasses, his long, thin fingers pressed together.  
  
"I'm afraid that Professor Snape is going to be very confused when he wakes up," Dumbledore continued.  
  
"Can I -- can I untie myself?"  
  
Dumbledore waved his wand, and the bindings on her arm fell away.  
  
"Come sit by me, Miss Granger." The teapot at Dumbledore's side raised itself, pouring a long strand of tea into a cup.  
  
Hermione scooted herself off the bed, shuffling to the chair opposite Dumbledore. "Is everyone furious at me?"  
  
"Mr. Potter was quite livid with worry, but worry was what it was. You should not have tried to resist the effects of the Binding so long, you know. Harry's quite right; you could have died."  
  
"I... I didn't want to bother Snape..."  
  
"Professor Snape is both less and more terrifying than he appears, Miss Granger. Although I daresay he will be quite fearsome when he finds out what you've done. Professor Snape does not like liabilities."  
  
"Liabilities?"  
  
"A wife and two children are rather powerful tools for Voldemort to use against him, don't you think?"  
  
Hermione's face fell, her teacup rattling in her hands. She hadn't thought about it quite like that...  
  
"Miss Granger. You made the right decision. It's merely a complicated situation. Professor Snape has made certain choices that... cause him to view the glass as half-empty."  
  
"How... how do you view the glass?"  
  
"I think you're rather less of a liability and rather more of a weapon, Miss Granger. A formidable one. How are you feeling?"  
  
"Uh... I'm fine."  
  
"You're aware of the terms of the marriage law?"  
  
"I... well... I tried to find the exact terms of it, but I couldn't... most of what I know, I got from Arthur Weasley..."  
  
"I believe the Ministry has kept this cloaked in secrecy and fine print on purpose, Miss Granger. Allow me to distill it."  
  
Hermione took a deep breath.  
  
"You will find -- or perhaps you have already found -- that intimate relations, or even the thought of them, with someone who is not your husband will make you very ill."  
  
She nodded.  
  
"There are physical contact requirements. These can be met, at the minimum, by five hours of sustained, casual, flesh-on-flesh contact. This is why we tied you to Professor Snape. You will find that the more... involved the contact is, the shorter the time required."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
_Wow. Never seen Dumbledore _blush_ before..._  
  
"Ah. Well. If Professor Snape had been well enough for the two of you to..."  
  
"Have marital relations?"  
  
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "'Marital relations' fulfill the time requirement immediately. Intimacy, to varying degrees, will speed the process. Had you kissed Professor Snape, it might have taken twenty minutes or so off... do I need to fill in the rest of the blanks?"  
  
"No, Headmaster."  
  
"Until Professor Snape regains consciousness, I suggest you spend your evenings down here. Sleeping next to him will fulfill your requirements."  
  
"I--I don't know how to get here, sir."  
  
"Allow me to give you your first wedding present, Miss Granger." Dumbledore held out a slender gold band with a small, round stone set in the top.  
  
"Wedding ring?"  
  
"And Portkey. Note the direction of the engravings around the stone. Wear them pointed towards you normally; turning them will activate the Portkey. Left for here; Right for your own room. Anyone or anything touching your skin, goes with you."  
  
Hermione held the ring up to the firelight, nodded, and slipped it on her finger.  
  
"Would you... would you like Professor McGonagall to discuss with you the, ah, basics of..."  
  
"I've read a lot of books, Headmaster."  
  
"Of course you have. Of course you have."  
  
"Headmaster... am I married? Am I... Mrs. Snape?"  
  
"You are civilly Bound in the eyes of the Ministry; legally, yes, you are Mrs. Snape. Whether you marry or not, whether you choose to call yourself that or not, is up to you and Professor Snape. A marriage, however, will last beyond the boundaries of the Binding... your current contract will expire when the Binding does."  
  
"Oh. Well, I don't want to get married, then..."  
  
"As you wish, Miss Granger."  
  
"Headmaster..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Are you going to tell Professor Snape, or..."  
  
"As a Gryffindor, Miss Granger, I know you have the bravery to confront the most difficult situations. Therefore, I will allow you to handle this most difficult task."  
  
Hermione sagged into her chair.  
  
"I will tell Professor Snape," Dumbledore continued.  
  
"You will? Sir, thank you, thank you, thank you..."  
  
"You," Dumbledore interrupted, "Will tell Ron Weasley."  
  
---  
  
"Hermione, make up your _mind_," Harry sighed. "Do you want me here when Ron gets here or not?"  
  
"I don't... I don't know, Harry, I don't know what to say, I don't..."  
  
Harry grabbed her by the hands. "Here's what you say. Tell him that you know how important Quidditch is to him, and that you didn't want him distracted, you didn't want to be a burden, and that you and Snape have worked something out so that you can get through your Binding at Hogwarts with..."  
  
"Dear God, Harry, you _were_ almost sorted into Slytherin."  
  
"The fine art of the spin is one of the many things _you_ taught me, Hermione. If you weren't utterly freaked, you'd be thinking of these things yourself."  
  
"Okay, okay, okay," Hermione's breath was coming in fast little gulps.   
  
"All right, I'm gonna go. I'll be outside the door, okay? If he tries to strangle you, I'll Stun him."  
  
"Oh Harry, you're so _reassuring_ and _supportive_..."  
  
"Said I was almost a Slytherin, not a Hufflepuff," Harry grinned, closing the door behind him.  
  
---  
  
"You're really not joking?" Ron said for the fifteenth time, his knuckles white on the mantlepiece. "You're... you're really going to make babies with _Snape_?"  
  
So far, this had gone better than Hermione had ever expected. Ron's main reaction seemed to be switching between nausea and concern.  
  
"Well..." Hermione said lightly. "Just two babies, really..."  
  
"Mum will think you're a wuss," Ron chuckled, then looked at her. "I think you're awfully brave."  
  
"He's not so bad, Ron, honestly, he's... he gave me biscuits once!"  
  
"Biscuits, eh? If I'd known that was all it took..."  
  
Hermione sighed. "Ron... are you awfully disappointed?"  
  
"I am... and I'm not." Ron knocked on the mantlepiece, looking for words. "The thing is, Hermione... I love _you_, you know? I love your brains and your daring and all the little bits about you, y'know? If I married you, I'd want to marry _you_... not some Dorcas-Longbottom-zombie-creature who just looks like you, y'know?"  
  
Hermione smiled, her heart breaking a little.  
  
_Ron, if you'd said _that_ to me a few days ago... we wouldn't be here..._  
  
"And maybe..." Ron bit his lip. "Well, maybe, when you're UnBound, and if you _wanted_ to... we could get married. Really married, y'know. I could help you with the babies... I know loads about babies..."  
  
Ron sat down on the edge of her bed and took her hand. "And I'll help you with the babies, anyway. Whether you... you want to marry me or not. I'll always help you, Hermione... you know that, right?"  
  
Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. "I know that, Ron."  
  
"I'd kiss you, but you'd puke on me, wouldn't you?"  
  
"I'd puke on you."  
  
"Alright. How about a hug, then?"  
  
Hermione let Ron fold her into his arms, her heart beating wildly. Warmth, safety, security... Ron really loved her, honestly cared about her...  
  
_What the hell have I done? What the hell have I done?_  
  
"Okay, Hermione. I've got to go, okay? Be... be careful."  
  
"I will be."  
  
"Love you," Ron said simply, giving her a peck on the forehead.  
  
---  
  
Hermione pulled bottles off the shelf, setting them on the tray, her hands trembling.  
  
_What have I done? God, what have I done?_  
  
One of her best friends loved her -- genuinely loved her -- and instead of him, she'd chosen Snape. Snape, who was a spy, an undercover Death Eater, a man who had made himself into a machine, excised every part of him that didn't fit with The Cause...  
  
_Harry's going to turn into him, isn't he? If he doesn't kill Voldemort soon, that's exactly what Harry will do... Harry's already doing it..._  
  
Hermione's mind scrabbled back to the things she'd seen in the Pensieve.  
  
_Professor Snape does not like liabilities._  
  
Snape wanted to be hated, wanted to keep all kindness at bay...  
  
_Your aim is lousy, Mudblood..._  
  
He'd never care for her. He'd never let himself. And if he ever did, by accident, why... he'd take that memory right out of his head. The next day, he'd give her the same black stare... she'd never get anywhere with him, ever...  
  
She'd married him because of that _stupid_ vision in the Pensieve, and it wasn't even _real_. It was a fantasy, something he'd made up, something that disgusted him so much he'd had to remove his memory of it...  
  
Hermione let out a choking sob, the bottle trembling in her hand.  
  
"There is no need for this, Miss Granger," said a velvety voice behind her.  
  
Hermione nearly dropped the tray, backing away from him.  
  
Snape entered the room, his arms crossed, regarding her. "I am well enough to teach my class today."  
  
_Scream at me! Get it over with!_  
  
"That's-that's good, P-Professor..."  
  
Snape took the tray from her trembling hands and set it down on the table.  
  
"Miss Granger. If you are so terrified of me, may I ask why you decided to _marry_ me?"  
  
His voice was still deadly soft, in a way even scarier than his shouts, and Hermione gulped. "Du-Dumbledore said he would talk to y-you..."  
  
"Dumbledore did speak with me. He was not, however, capable of sharing the contents of your mind, what on _earth_ possessed you to do such an _incredibly stupid_ thing. And I must confess, I find myself quite interested. I had labored under the delusion that you were somewhat intelligent."  
  
Snape blurred before her as Hermione's eyes swam. God, he hated her. She was Bound to him, and he hated her... her life was going to be hell...  
  
"Speak up," Snape commanded. "My curiousity is piqued. You knew I absolutely did not want to marry you, you knew I only signed that bid in an apparently misguided attempt to help you, to help you overcome your rather idiotic decision to hurl yourself under Mr. Potter in front of Mr. Weasley... and now you have forced me to either suffer your presence for the rest of my life, or to father your _brats_."  
  
Tears rolled down Hermione's face.  
  
"Speak up, Miss Granger."  
  
"I-I don't know."  
  
"You don't know. That's fabulous. You've invaded my life to an unbearable extent, and you don't know why. Miss Granger, I applaud you. I thought I had lived to see the depths of human stupidity plumbed to their utmost, and thanks to you I find there is yet more to discover."  
  
"I thought..."  
  
"No, Miss Granger... it's quite clear that you did no such thing."  
  
Hermione's chest heaved, her hands clenching into fists. "You are such a horrid, horrid man."  
  
"Miss Granger, if that's the best you can come up with, our marriage won't give me _any_ kind of pleasure..."  
  
"I'll break the Binding. You won't have to suffer my presence."  
  
"Oh? And how do you plan to accomplish that? Accost Cornelius Fudge? Take the Ministry hostage? You're only two-thirds of your former mayhem triumverate, Miss Granger, I think you'll find that..."  
  
"It breaks if I die," Hermione spat.  
  
Snape rolled his eyes. "Of all the melodramatic, adolescent..."  
  
"You forget, _Snape_," Hermione hissed. "I'm Bound to you, remember? Your love is all in the world that I crave, _right_? My mind's not my own, my will's not my own, I'm utterly _crazed_ without you. Who knows what I'll do?"  
  
"Miss Granger, you are being utterly puerile..."  
  
Hermione raised her wand, pointed it at herself...  
  
"You can't commit suicide with a Killing Curse, Miss Granger..."  
  
... and snapped it in two.  
  
Snape's jaw dropped. "You utter idiot."  
  
"I'm going home."  
  
"You _can't_ go home, you..."  
  
"Watch me," Hermione said, and turned the stone in her ring to the right.


	7. Ellan Vaneen Veg Veen

Hermione threw clothes into her backpack, her mind whirling furiously. Snape would probably be here any minute, he'd know this would be where she'd go first...  
  
_The trunk's too big, I can't take it. Harry can send my stuff on... I just have to get out of here. Dammit, I wish I had that map, didn't Ron have it last?_  
  
Hermione tried to reconstruct the Marauder's Map in her mind, seeking out the hidden exits. There was... no, that required a wand. Or... dammit, that required a wand!   
  
_Escape first, break the wand later, you moron..._  
  
Think, think, think!  
  
Ron's voice: _Damn, Harry, we can't use that one, we'll never be able to get in there..._  
  
The Slytherin exit. Of course.  
  
Hermione shouldered her backpack, turning her ring to the left...  
  
Snape's chambers were empty, his fire out, a lingering scent of him still in the air... spicy, exotic, alluring, dark, mysterious... like the man himself, with his...  
  
_And this is exactly why you're leaving! Get a move on!_  
  
Hermione pushed the door open, staring into a stone hallway, lined with green doors.  
  
_Oh, hell. I know it's one of the bedrooms, I just don't know which one..._  
  
Hermione squinched her eyes shut, trying to recall the Map. If that was Snape's quarters behind her, she'd be facing left on the map... which meant that it would be on her right...  
  
She tried a door. Ech, Pansy Parkinson -- her disgusting fondness for pink apparently didn't stop at Yule Ball robes...  
  
And the next. Yes! A stone door was set in the far wall. Hermione hurled herself into the room, shutting the door behind her...  
  
And gasped.  
  
_This_ was the room she'd seen herself and Snape in, inside the Pensieve... deja vu was thudding all around her. The green curtains, the angle of the bed, the particular play of light on the wall from the little window in the exit door.   
  
_Why was Snape imagining shagging me in a student's room?_  
  
It hadn't even really crossed her mind when she'd been in Snape's chambers that they _hadn't_ been the room she'd seen in the memory...  
  
_There's no time for this, Hermione...!_  
  
Hermione threw open the door to the outside and started running.  
  
---  
  
"Something from the cart, dear?"  
  
Hermione looked up, her eyes suddenly swimming. "No thank you."  
  
_You're a Muggle now, Hermione. The cart has things like tea and sandwiches, not Chocolate Frogs. It's nothing to snivel over._  
  
Except that she really felt like snivelling. Quite a bit, really.  
  
_Hi, Mum! Hi, Dad! Guess what? I've dropped out of school! And y'know what the lovely bit about that is? Nothing I've studied counts in the Muggle world! So basically, I haven't gone to school since I was eleven! Oh, I forgot to mention, I'm married to an utter bastard who's just a few years younger than you! Oh, and I'm on the run from him! And the Ministry of Magic! What's for supper?_  
  
So basically, she'd ruled out actually going home.  
  
She'd thought about Lupin, longingly... but he'd just make her go back. Same with the Weasleys... just assuming for the moment that they _would_ take her in, that Molly wasn't furious at her for 'rejecting' her son...  
  
_I wish Sirius were alive_, Hermione thought bitterly. _Sirius would hide me, wouldn't think twice about it, he'd bite Snape in the leg if he came after me... of course, if Sirius were alive, I could just have married him, that might have been fun... he could have taught me to be an Animagus..._  
  
Ron would hide her too, of course, but she didn't even know where he was...   
  
Hermione sighed, twisting the edge of her jumper in her hands. She'd finally decided on her parents' summer cottage. Which meant this train to Liverpool, and then a ferry ride, and then another train ride down to Port Erin, and then a walk...  
  
Hermione's back twinged painfully, and Hermione fought down a wave of panic.  
  
_Your back only hurts because you've been travelling for hours. You're a Muggle now, you're outside Ministry law..._  
  
Harry was going to be so upset...  
  
_Well, of course he's going to be upset. He thought he'd go into the final showdown flanked by friends, didn't he? And now you've just abandoned him... because Snape hurt your itty-bitty feewings. What did you expect, Granger, seriously? Snape to suddenly show up with roses, professing his undying love?_  
  
Hermione gulped. _I expected what I saw..._  
  
_Moron. Nothing in that vision was right. He was in a student's room, not his chambers, you weren't acting anything like yourself, hell, even Snape wasn't right, he looked to be about sixteen..._  
  
Hermione's knuckles whitened on the arms of the train seat.  
  
That was why Snape had looked so much more attractive in the vision. _He'd been about her age_. She'd been so... well... hormonal... it hadn't really sunk in...  
  
_And Lily...  
  
Potter will take care of her._  
  
_Your aim is lousy, Mudblood..._  
  
Hermione let out a little moan, comprehension sinking in. This time, putting the puzzle pieces together didn't feel quite as thrilling.  
  
_Especially since half the fun of figuring things out is telling Harry how clever you've been, right? And you can't tell Harry this, ever, he'd vomit all over you..._  
  
None of it made sense. The Marauders had hated Snape, hadn't they?  
  
_They're going to be so confused, Severus..._  
  
She should have gone to Lupin. Even if he'd kicked her out, she could have demanded some answers...  
  
_You do realize what you saw in that Pensieve, don't you, Hermione?_  
  
Hermione shook her head, trying to clear it...  
  
_You saw a memory Snape stuck your face on. Guess whose body he stuck your face on?_  
  
Oh, that's gross, that's gross, that's gross...  
  
_Ha, ha. You married an asshole because of a twenty-year-old memory of him making out with your best friend's mother..._  
  
Hermione buried her face in her hands and started to cry.  
  
---  
  
Hermione threw the keys on the countertop, the sharp clattering of metal jangling in her already overloaded mind.  
  
_That's what Muggle keys sound like, Hermione. That's how you open doors now. Welcome back to the world, Hermione... the boring old Muggle world. Welcome back to commercials for sanitary products and television programs where everybody shags everybody, where it matters who made your trainers and anyone you tell about the last seven years of your life will have you shipped off to the looney bin..._  
  
Hermione pressed a hand to her throbbing back, opening the refrigerator. Thank God, her parents hadn't completely cleaned it out when they left...  
  
She opened a pop, dropping into her Dad's old easy chair, the worn-out leather sighing.   
  
_And what the hell are you going to do now, Hermione, eh? Are you going to get a job in a shop somewhere, ringing up people's groceries while Harry takes on Lord Voldemort by himself?_  
  
"Shut up," she whispered miserably, "Shut up..."  
  
_Hey, Hermione,_ Malfoy's voice whispered in her head. _D'ya think you'll be able to feel it when Harry dies?_  
  
---  
  
Her pyjamas clung to her, sweat beading on her forehead.  
  
_Go back, Hermione._  
  
I won't. I can't. Snape... the Ministry... somebody has to make a stand, dammit...  
  
_It's not worth dying for..._  
  
Hermione fumbled in the medicine cabinet, bottles falling everywhere, reaching again for the Vicodin from that time her Dad broke his leg.  
  
_You've had two already. You're going to overdose, and it's not going to help._  
  
It hurt. It hurt so badly. Oh dear God it hurt so much...  
  
She stumbled down the hallway, pill in hand, heedless of the light fixtures exploding over her head, the rattling of the paintings on the wall. Glass crunched under her bare feet, but it couldn't even make a dent on the pain from inside...  
  
Hermione slipped, her bloody feet giving out beneath her, the pill skidding down the carpet, out of reach. She groaned, trying to slide on her stomach towards it...  
  
And a dark shadow fell across her...  
  
"_Never_ try to hide from a wizard in _Avalon_, Miss Granger."  
  
Hermione rolled over, bleary eyes trying to focus on the dark shape above her... a dark shape bending down to pick her up...  
  
"Snape?" she whispered.  
  
"No, it's Santa Claus," Snape muttered, carrying her down the hall. "Only he's developed a bit of an attitude problem."  
  
She clutched his robes in her hand. "It really p-pisses me off how happy I am to see you."  
  
"That might be the first sensible thing you've said all day."  
  
Snape kicked open the bedroom door, laying her down on the bed and lying beside her. Hermione let out a little squeak.  
  
"I'm not going to hurt you, Granger." Snape's voice purred through her ear, the heat of his breath on her neck. "I'm trying to help. How bad is it?"  
  
Somehow, the kindness just made it worse, made it okay for tears to roll down her face... "P-pretty bad."  
  
"Don't lie to me, it's useless..." Hermione stiffened, and Snape softened his voice. "Granger... relax. It's just going to get worse if you don't... here..."  
  
Snape reached out, gently turning her onto her side, taking her hip in his hand and sliding it back to rest snugly against his own. His knee nudged between her thighs, spreading them wide enough for his leg to slide between hers. "Is that any better?"  
  
"A-A little." She still couldn't stop shaking...  
  
"I won't know what I need to do if you won't tell me how bad it is..." One warm palm curved around her upper arm, sliding down the length of it. "How bad is it?"  
  
"I've n-never hurt this b-badly. I don't... I don't have a f-frame of r-reference..."  
  
"This isn't helping?" God, he was so close to her, his lips so close to her ear...  
  
"It is... it is. Just... just not that much..."  
  
Snape sighed, more warmth spreading over the back of her neck. "Never let it get this bad again, Granger. I don't want to have to..."  
  
_I know what you don't want to do, Snape. You've made that quite clear._  
  
"Here." Snape dipped his head, pressing his lips against the nape of her neck, his palm sliding warm through her shirt against the muscles of her back. "Better?"  
  
Hermione shook her head, tears in her eyes.  
  
"All right." Snape's voice murmured; Hermione rather thought he was talking to himself. "I suppose..."  
  
He sat up from her, fabric rustling, and his shirt soared over Hermione to land on the floor next to the bed. "Roll over a little, Granger."  
  
His fingers undid her buttons, his eyes searching her face anxiously. Hermione tried to control her breath, tried not to show the effect he was having. He lifted her, pulling the shirt off of her. It joined his on the floor, and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her against the warmth of his chest.  
  
The knot in her stomach loosened, the warmth of his bare skin like a balm for pain everywhere he touched her, heat radiating through her, uncramping her muscles.  
  
"Better?"  
  
"Yes. A lot."  
  
"Still hurts?"  
  
Hermione nodded, and Snape bent to her again, pressing kisses on the back of her neck, his fingers trailing down her arms, each kiss eroding the pain away, chipping away at the pulsing red within her.  
  
"That helps," she gasped. "That really helps... but it's..."  
  
"Not enough?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Do you... do you want... do you need me to... to really kiss you?" Snape asked, his voice hesitant.  
  
_He's a bastard! He's an asshole! He's the reason you came all this way! You've been trying to get away from him, what the hell are you doing?_  
  
"Please," Hermione whispered, rolling over within his arms to face him.  
  
Snape reached out, cupping her chin, bringing his lips down to brush hers. Hermione moaned against his mouth as relief flooded through her, and she pressed her lips against his.   
  
_Oh my God, this is nothing like kissing Harry, nothing like kissing Harry at all..._  
  
Snape deepened the kiss, his mouth opening, his lower lip caressing hers, a rhythm building between them, thought burning away. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, pulling him towards her, her knee nudging his legs apart as his had, letting her thigh slide between his.  
  
The pain was quieting, her body returning to her. She slid her fingers along the planes of his back, feeling the muscles beneath, the velvety heat and softness of his skin, tugging him closer and closer as their mouths opened, moving, his tongue gently pressing against, sliding over hers, a haze of heat growing around them.  
  
_This is insane, this is crazy, this feels... this feels..._   
  
The pain was almost gone now, new sensations rising to take its place, warmth flooding through her. A pleasant shiver quickened in her stomach as Snape sighed against her lips, and she raised her fingers to trace his jawline, curl around the edges of his ear, trail down his neck. She felt a stirring at the top of her thigh and instinctively pressed herself against it, a low noise issuing from Snape's throat, and she let her fingers play lightly against his collarbone, slide down through the hair at his chest, making lazy spirals with her fingertips...  
  
"Granger," Snape growled. "Are you better?"  
  
"Yes," she whispered, lowering her head to press kisses on his neck, feeling his pulse pound against her lips, reveling in it, breathing him in...  
  
"All the way better?"  
  
"I feel wonderful," she said honestly.  
  
Snape stiffened instantly, pulling away from her, his legs moving to pop out her own from in between them, plucking her hands off his body. "Well, then. Let's see that this doesn't happen again."  
  
Hermione was suddenly as cold as she'd been hot, his absence like a vacuum within her. "I don't... I don't want to stop, please..."  
  
She reached for him, and he stopped her hand. "Miss Granger, if you were were not Bound, you'd be screaming in revulsion right now. You'd be running away from me, not _begging for more_."  
  
"I wasn't... I wasn't _begging_, I don't _beg_..."  
  
_Especially not you, you great overgrown bat..._  
  
"Miss Granger. I have too much respect for you to watch you do this, and too much respect for myself to take advantage. You will start sleeping in my chambers at night; this _will not happen_ again."  
  
"Never?"  
  
The word had left her lips before she had time to stop it, and her cheeks flushed at the plaintive sound of it.   
  
_Here it comes. He's going to mock me into the ground..._  
  
Snape merely shook his head sorrowfully. "Miss Granger... you're under _mind-control_."  
  
"But... I want..."   
  
"Do you know what I want?" Snape whispered, turning Hermione's face towards him. "I want to be there the day you are UnBound, Miss Granger. And when that curse, that _fucking_ Ministry-applied Imperius Curse, when that _fog_ fades from your eyes... I don't..."  
  
Snape swallowed heavily. "I don't want you to hate me."  
  
What? Hermione stared at Snape, jaw unhinged.  
  
_I HATE YOU!  
  
You aim is lousy, Mudblood..._  
  
"I want us to be able to raise our children amicably, to let them see that their parents are friends, to let them know they are welcomed and loved by both of us. I don't want them to ever go through what I went through. I want them _happy_, I want them raised by people who share a mutual respect, a mutual understanding."  
  
Snape breathed deeply, his eyes locked on Hermione's. "And you understand that if I took you now... no matter how much _the Ministry_ has made you think you want it... you'd hate me for it later, you'd lie your bed at night and remember it and shudder, it would poison every inch of our future, our children's future."  
  
He reached up, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. "I won't do that to you. I won't do that to them. I won't do it to me."  
  
Hermione gaped, unable to do anything but stare as Snape arched over her, reaching for their shirts on the floor. He dropped hers on top of her, shrugging into his own as he rolled off the bed.  
  
"B-but..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Mutual... respect... but you... you were _such an ass_ to me today!"  
  
Professor Snape leaned against the poster of the bed, buttoning his cuffs. "That's right, Miss Granger. I _was_ an ass. I generally _am_ an ass; I'm sure you've noticed."  
  
Hermione tried to pay attention, but there was something about his elegant posture, the motion of his arms as those long fingers worked at his wrist...   
  
"You, on the other hand, are generally pleasant... up until, I believe, the point that you found out you were being made to do something completely odious to you, that you had no freedom to stop... at which point you began to do a rather credible impersonation of _me_. I hear you terrified my Potions class?"  
  
Hermione hung her head slightly.  
  
"If this law has the power to rob you of your charm, you can rather imagine the effect it had on me. Understand this, Miss Granger... while I may not be Bound, I have lost my freedom as surely as you have. It was a rather unpleasant shock."  
  
"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered. "I should have talked to you first..."  
  
Snape sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I've worked hard to keep you terrified of me, Miss Granger. Much of that fault lies with me."  
  
"But you were just... so nice to me..."  
  
"Miss Granger, I'm a misogynist bastard. I am not, however, enough of one to let a child die because I am piqued."  
  
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "A child?"  
  
"I realize you're above the age of consent, Miss Granger. However, the fact remains that I am old enough to be your father."  
  
"My father's twenty years older than you!"  
  
"Miss Granger, I find it very difficult to have a serious debate about your womanhood when you're clad in fluffy sheep pyjamas."  
  
Hermione looked down, blushing.  
  
"Also... your feet are bleeding..." Snape tossed something onto the bed.  
  
Hermione picked it up. "My wand? B-but... I broke this..."  
  
"And I had it repaired. Heal your feet, Miss Granger, we need to leave. It's not safe for you here."  
  
"But... I'm a Muggle now..."  
  
Snape chuckled. "You are hardly a Muggle, Miss Granger."  
  
"I _broke_ my _wand_."  
  
"A gesture, you will find, that is entirely symbolic. You've been a witch since your birth; you'll be a witch until your death. Which, I might add, will be in roughly two days, if you continue to run off every time I'm less than pleasant."  
  
"How... how did you know where to find me?"  
  
"As I said before, Miss Granger... never try to hide from a wizard in Avalon."  
  
"I'm not in _Avalon_."  
  
Snape's eyes danced. "_Ellan Vaneen Veg Veen_... don't tell me you never noticed. Good old Mannannan-Beg Mac-y-Leir? Myrddin? Merlin? Thought you'd have worked it out by now..."  
  
"Ellan Vaneen..." Hermione whispered.  
  
"Indeed. This place has a certain... amplifying effect." Snape's eyes were dancing again, one eyebrow arched... like he was about to show her a very exciting toy. "Heal your feet."  
  
"I suck at healing charms, I..."  
  
Hermione flicked her wand, whispering the words, shocked to feel power whoosh through her, nearly knocking her off the bed.  
  
She wiggled her toes. There was no sign they'd ever been injured.  
  
"Fix that lamp," Snape purred.  
  
"Reparo," Hermione muttered... and the lamp sprung together instantly, with the same heady rush of power.  
  
"Now," Snape said, "Come see what you did to this house."  
  
Hermione padded across the floor, noticing the glass still on it. "Scour-"  
  
"Not yet!" Snape commanded. "Come see."  
  
Hermione peeked into the hallway and gasped. Every light fixture was shattered; the paintings had fallen off the walls; dust still streamed from the ceilings.  
  
"My parents are going to kill me," Hermione breathed.  
  
"Miss Granger," Snape breathed into her ear. "That is what you did _without a wand_, just by the force of your own pain. Never call yourself a _Muggle_ again."  
  
Hermione closed her eyes, entranced by the sound of his voice, the heat of him behind her... strange, how similar the feelings were, the surge of magical power, the surge of desire...  
  
"Miss Granger?"  
  
"Scourgify."  
  
Another rush, this one cool, like a breeze blowing through her... and the hallway righted itself.  
  
"That's how I found you, Miss Granger... you were shining like a beacon. Which means that I'm not the only one you were shining for... and we need to leave. Gather your things."  
  
"What do you mean? I'm... I'm... I'm so confused... about everything..."  
  
"Now is not the time or place. _Gather your things_." Snape began striding through the halls, repairing damage.  
  
"I don't... I don't want to go back yet, I..."  
  
"Miss Granger? Come here."  
  
Hermione found herself unwillingly taking a step towards Snape.  
  
"Stop. As you can see, the amplification affects your Binding. I'd imagine you only have a few hours before it takes you over again. You will come back to Hogwarts."  
  
"Then you can make me do whatever you want, right?" Hermione snapped. "Make me."  
  
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Miss Granger... I am trying to hold my temper. I am also trying to treat you with a respect you do not currently deserve, a respect which, I must point out, you have _not_ shown to me. _Please_ come back to Hogwarts."  
  
"You've never respected me, _Snape_."  
  
"Have you ever been under the Imperius Curse?" Snape snapped.  
  
"No."  
  
"_I have_. It gives me certain distaste for forcing people to do things against their will. Believe it or not, Miss Granger, I _have_ been respectful. I _asked_ you why you ruined my life; I _could_ have ripped all the answers I sought out of your brain with a look. I could _force_ you to come back to Hogwarts; I _could_ have forced you not to leave. I am _trying_ to honor the free will you have left, which I think should be _obvious_, since the only reason you _have_ the will to defy me is because I _broke Ministry Laws to give it to you!_"  
  
Hermione burst into tears.  
  
"_Why_ must you do that _every time I talk to you_?" Snape demanded.  
  
"Because you're mean! You call me stupid! You're always yelling!"  
  
Snape loomed over her. "And is this a _new_ development?"  
  
"No..."  
  
"Then I'd say you've gotten _exactly_ the husband you signed up for, Miss Granger."  
  
Snape crossed to the fireplace, pulling a bag of Floo Powder out of his robes. "Kindly return to my chambers sometime before you die, Miss Granger... and do remember that I tried to spare you what you're about to experience."  
  
"I'll come," Hermione said quietly. "On one condition..."  
  
"Miss Granger, you realize that I cannot change my personality..."  
  
"You have to start calling me Hermione."  
  
Snape stopped in his tracks; the eyebrow soared, and a wicked little grin crossed his face.  
  
_Oh, wow... that looks good on him..._  
  
"Very well," Snape purred... "_Hermione_."  
  
_Ohhhhhhhhhh. Maybe that wasn't the best idea._


	8. That Book By Nabokov

A/N: "Ellan Vaneen" = "Isle of Man", in Manx Gaelic. The Isle of Man is an island in the Irish sea between the UK and Ireland; Port Erin, where I've located the Granger's summer cottage, is on the southwest side.  
  
There are many characteristics of the Isle of Man that put it high in the running for a real-world location for Avalon, a magical island that figures heavily in Arthurian legend. I'm taking the liberty of saying that is _is_ Avalon.  
  
Maybe Snape will tell you more later :)  
  
--------  
  
"Nabokov, Severus? What an _interesting_ choice of reading material."  
  
Snape's eyes glinted as he set the book aside. "Bite me, Remus."  
  
"Well, now. That certainly would be one way out of your predicament, wouldn't it?"  
  
"Turning into a monstrous being, maddened by desires, praying on innocent flesh? Would I notice a difference?"  
  
"Ah, Severus." Lupin settled himself into the opposite booth, lifting his Firewhiskey to his lips. "Not many men would venture out on a night like this to listen to you whinge about having to bed a beautiful woman."  
  
"A beautiful _student_, whose mind is not her own..."  
  
"Most men would consider that the gift-wrapping."  
  
"We are not most men, Remus."  
  
"Indeed we are not."  
  
Remus swirled his whiskey. "I take it you have not actually done the deed yet."  
  
"I have not."  
  
"Because...?"  
  
"I would prefer to wait."  
  
Lupin's eyebrow rose insolently. "Because...?"  
  
"For one thing, her NEWTs. I'm working on a potion to lessen the effects of the Binding, to allow her to get through the school year more efficiently."  
  
"How's that going?"  
  
"Quite well, apparently, seeing as she's managed to run away from me twice."  
  
"You could, perhaps, attempt to be less terrifying."  
  
"I've had too many years of practice."  
  
"If you've loosened the Binding, what's the problem?"  
  
"I seem to have only loosened parts of it. She has her will, but certain... other parts of the Binding have not been affected at all."  
  
"The Cruciatus?"  
  
"Still in effect, and the..." Snape broke off, staring darkly into his drink.  
  
"Well, well, well," Lupin grinned gently. "So she wants to slap you around, call you names, and shag you rotten?"  
  
"You have a detestible turn of phrase, Remus."  
  
"Well, I _am_ a monstrous being, maddened by desires, Severus. One might say I've had too many years of practice."  
  
Snape growled low in his throat.  
  
"At any rate, Severus... it sounds like you've created your perfect woman."  
  
"My perfect woman," Snape hissed, "Would not be miserable during it."  
  
The humor fell from Lupin's face. "She's miserable?"  
  
"Miss Granger is a creature of the mind, Remus. She is not used to this... onslaught."  
  
"Are you certain of that? And are you sure she minds?"  
  
"The girl bursts into tears whenever I talk to her!"  
  
"So does Neville Longbottom!"  
  
"Well, he _did_, Remus." Snape's eyes were twinking again, the eyebrow soaring. "Until you helped him to visualize me in the party frock."  
  
"Now Severus. It wasn't a party frock. And you did look _awfully_ pretty."  
  
"I'm sure you recall it in detail late at night when you're alone," Snape drawled, motioning for a refill.  
  
Lupin batted his eyelashes. "Darling, how'd you know?"  
  
"Pervert."  
  
"Ah, yes, Severus, I'm the pervert... tell me, when you imagine your wife naked, does she keep the knee socks on?"  
  
"Shall I order an additional box of salt for you to rub in my wounds?"  
  
"I'm trying to make you laugh, you gloomy ass."  
  
"You are not succeeding."  
  
"I noticed. Severus, has it occurred to you that perhaps you _have_ suppressed all parts of the Binding equally?"  
  
"Obviously not, since I _have_ not."  
  
"Perhaps wanting to slap you around and shag you silly _is_ Miss Granger's natural reaction to you."  
  
"Remus, have you, by any chance, _looked_ at me lately?"  
  
"Unfortunately, yes. I've also looked at Victor Krum, who looks rather like you sculpted in miniature. And I can't help but notice that when faced with a choice between Harry and Ron, she went with Harry -- he's rather the broodier, angstier of the two, wouldn't you say? Perhaps you're her _type_, Severus."  
  
"If you're deducing her taste in men from her taste in boys, Lupin, shouldn't she have been ripping the robes off Malfoy by now?"  
  
"Malfoy is a spoilt, whiny, brat with just enough charm to keep himself surrounded in muscle. You are neither spoilt nor whiny, and you certainly don't have charm."  
  
Lupin grinned wickedly. "Well, periodically you _are_ whiny."  
  
"I'm so glad we had this talk," Snape drawled.  
  
"Severus, she _chose_ you. Weasley bid on her, as did a hundred other wizards... and she _chose you_. Over one of her best friends. Don't you find that rather intriguing?"  
  
"She didn't want to leave Potter, didn't want to miss her NEWTs. She's a logical, ambitious, brilliant, loyal girl, Lupin."  
  
"Like I said," Lupin grinned, tossing back the rest of his drink. "Your perfect woman."  
  
"My perfect _woman_ is not a _girl_."  
  
Lupin gathered his cloak, throwing it over one arm. "Don't forget brave, Severus. Terribly, terribly brave. She did, after all, sign up to raise _Baby Snapes_."  
  
---  
  
"_Criniscuro_," Hermione whispered, staring into her mirror critically. Her hair obediently rearranged itself. It was better, but...  
  
_You're primping for Snape. I just wanted to call that to your attention. In case you hadn't noticed what an utter idiot you're being right now._  
  
Hermione whispered a slicing charm, and all the layers of poofy ruffles on her nightgown fell off. Better, but flannel was still kind of...   
  
A quick transfiguration, and the flannel had turned to silk.  
  
Red, though... he probably didn't like red... would remind him of all the times her House had utterly pulverized his in Quidditch...  
  
With a little smirk, Hermione waved her wand, and the nightgown turned black.  
  
On the other hand... let him suffer.  
  
Back to red.  
  
_Little bit too concealing, I think..._  
  
Hermione closed her eyes, conjuring up an image of those catalogues that came for her mother yet always seemed to end up in her father's possession.  
  
_There._  
  
Hermione smiled at herself in satisfaction. There would be no more fluffy sheep-print pyjama cracks tonight.  
  
_You do realize if McGonagall knew what you were doing with the knowledge she's imparted, she'd be screaming her head off in horror right about now?_  
  
Right. Time to have a little chat with Snape.  
  
---  
  
She appeared behind his armchair; she could just see one elegant hand, turning pages before the fire.  
  
"What are you reading?"  
  
Snape set the book aside. "1001 Cruel Insults For Lovely People."  
  
"Wow," Hermione said innocently. "And here I thought I'd read all your books."  
  
She heard a very soft chuckle. "You seem to be in improved spirits this evening, Miss Granger."  
  
"You'd be amazed how pleasant I can be when I'm not undergoing the Cruciatus Curse."  
  
"Alas, if only the same could be said for me. I expected you rather later."  
  
"I thought we might talk."  
  
A sigh. "Very well. Have a seat, Miss Granger."  
  
Hermione took the opportunity to lean on his armrest. "I thought we agreed you were going to call me Hermione?"  
  
"I..."  
  
And Snape broke off, his eyes flying wide at the small mountain of cleavage three inches from his chin. "Mi... _Hermione_, what the hell is that getup you have on?"  
  
"You didn't like my sheep pyjamas," Hermione yawned, curling up into the other armchair. "I thought I'd wear one of my other nightgowns."  
  
"Well, that certainly explains your popularity in Gryffindor Tower," Snape sneered. "And here I thought you owed that to your _sparkling personality_, not your _visible nipples_."  
  
Hermione's eyes shot down in horror.  
  
"_Made you look_," Snape purred.  
  
"Oh, rot in hell, Snape," Hermione snapped.  
  
Snape's eyebrow soared. "That's much better. For a moment, I was rather afraid you were a boggart..."  
  
"I'm your worst fear? I'll save _that_ information for later..."  
  
"On the contrary, dear, I merely thought someone had already cast a _Riddikulus_ charm on you."  
  
Hermione paled... then her eyes narrowed. "I don't suppose you have a companion volume? 1001 Cruel Comebacks For Horrid Gits? I've only received one wedding present, after all, and none from my husband."  
  
"Ah, but I _am_ your present, Hermione." Severus' lips curled. "The overwhelming sweetness of my company."  
  
"I don't suppose you kept the receipt?"  
  
"Watch yourself, Hermione, I'm perilously close to being glad you stopped by. What did you wish to speak to me about?"  
  
"You mentioned children last night."  
  
His eyes grew hooded. "So I did."  
  
"May I ask how you plan to produce them if you never intend to touch me?"  
  
Snape sighed heavily. "Yes. We should discuss this."  
  
But apparently not face-to-face; he rose from his chair to stand behind her, looking at the wall. "I have thought about this, if you'd like to hear my conclusions."  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
"Obviously, we'll want to prepare the potion you've devised. And I suggest we wait until this summer to use it."  
  
Her stomach gave a funny little lurch of protest. "Why?"  
  
"I understand that pregnancy is most taxing on a woman's body and mind. Surely you don't want to take your NEWTs in a compromised state."  
  
"But... I'd hoped to have the babies right after my NEWTs, and be done with the Binding..."  
  
"I understand your eagerness to be free, Miss Granger. However, I've improved the potion since your last use of it. I believe it will remove many of your current... ill effects. I'd like to offer you an apprenticeship with me, to begin immediately after classes end..."  
  
"I can't handle Potions ingredients when I'm pregnant."  
  
"I am, of course, aware of this. You would be confined to the safest..."  
  
"I'm not doing a half-assed apprenticeship, _Snape_."  
  
"I do not _give_ half-assed apprenticeships, _Hermione_."  
  
"I don't even _want_ to apprentice in Potions. Thank you for your kind offer, Professor, but I reject it."  
  
Snape's voice grew low, dangerous. "I have not taken on an apprentice in over a decade, Miss Granger..."  
  
"_Hermione_."  
  
"... Hermione. It is an honor for which many would do much."  
  
"Like sleep with you? I'm already going to be doing that."  
  
Snape's hands curled into fists, his jaw clenching. "I think you'll find that there are not many Masters... let alone one of my caliber... who are willing to take on an apprentice whose concentration is interrupted by child-rearing."  
  
"Child-rearing your own children!"  
  
"You are _making my point for me_, Hermione."  
  
"I don't want to wait. I don't want to be Bound a second longer than I have to be. And I definitely don't want my apprenticeship compromised by being Bound to my Master."  
  
Snape crossed his arms. "So you're demanding that I _knock you up_ now, is that it?"  
  
"Pretty much!"  
  
"And do you have the potion prepared?"  
  
"Well, no, of course I don't, I..."  
  
"Then it's not happening _tonight_, is it? Get in the bed, this ridiculous conversation is over."  
  
"I haven't even --"  
  
"Get in the bed, Hermione, you have instilled in me an overwhelming wish to be unconscious."  
  
"Which side do you want?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Which side of the bed do you want?"  
  
"_Whichever one you are not on_."  
  
"Fine by me," Hermione huffed, springing out of the chair.  
  
---  
  
_Oh, wow. So warm..._  
  
Hermione wriggled happily, still half-asleep, the bed deliciously comfortable and this wonderful source of heat behind her, such a nice contrast to the chilly air on her face...  
  
_Chilly?_  
  
Hermione's eyes popped open, to be rewarded with a sideways view of dungeon wall.  
  
_Yep. I'm in bed with Snape._  
  
She'd cuddled up to him in the night, apparently... a verb she'd never thought would apply to Snape in a million years. Somehow, they'd ended up spooned together, his arm flung around her stomach, his face against her neck, his...  
  
_Oh, that's interesting._  
  
Hermione gave another experimental wriggle, and Snape let out a little sigh and pulled her closer. A little surge of heat pooled in Hermione's belly.  
  
_That happens to guys in the morning, doesn't it?_  
  
Hermione let out a little yawn and _wriggled_ again, deliberately grinding her hips against Snape's...  
  
... and then, she felt him push back, and the warmth spread, running through her bloodstream. His breath, still heavy and regular, tickled the back of her neck... the warmth of his body radiating through her thin nightgown, his arm grazing the undersides of her breasts.  
  
_He's still asleep..._  
  
Hermione arched her back, pressing herself against Snape in slow, grinding circles, something primitive, instinctual welling within her as he moved against her, drawing her closer, the warm flat of his palm sliding down the silk at her stomach, his breath growing more shallow. She could feel the muscles in his arms move as he clutched her to him...  
  
And then, he stopped.  
  
_Damn, damn, damn..._  
  
"Hermione." His voice, roughened by sleep, was somehow even lower and sexier than before. "What the hell are you doing?"  
  
"I can't get comfortable," she lied.  
  
"Try sleeping on your own side, then." And Snape rolled over, turning his back to her.  
  
It felt like her heartbeat had relocated southward, hot fog in her brain, eliminating all tracks of her mind but one.  
  
"I'm cold, though," she said, molding her body to his, her hand snaking around his stomach to wrap him as he'd wrapped her.  
  
"Then go back to your own room, the five hours should be up now."  
  
She let her hand stray two inches lower on his stomach.  
  
"Did you not hear me? I said go back to your own room."  
  
And two inches lower. She heard his sharp intake of breath.  
  
"But I'm comfortable."  
  
"You _just said_ you weren't."  
  
"But I am now." She laid her cheek against the planes of his shoulders.  
  
"Fine," Snape spat. "_I'll_ get up."  
  
Hermione's hand clamped around his wrist. "Please don't."  
  
"We're both awake. We might as well get up."  
  
"I thought... maybe we could talk."  
  
"We talked last night."  
  
"You talked. I didn't get to."  
  
"That's not how I remember it."  
  
"Do you want me to start brewing the potion today?"  
  
Snape stiffened. "It's too soon."  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
"Fine. I'll brew up a Placidus during my free period."  
  
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You'll _what_?"  
  
Snape blinked at the fury in her voice. "I thought... I assumed..."  
  
"That I'd want to be _knocked out_ for it?"  
  
"I didn't think you'd want to..."  
  
"Be awake? Remember it? My first time? Are you insane?"  
  
Snape blinked. "Well, that way you wouldn't have to experience it..."  
  
Hermione started laughing, and Snape recoiled, his voice going ice-cold. "What in the world is amusing about _that_, Miss Granger?"  
  
"Oh, for God's sakes, would you call me Hermione? I'm your fucking wife!"  
  
"Very well... _Hermione_... what the hell is so funny?"  
  
"You! You're all swooping around, ooooooooh I'm Snape, I'm soooooo scaaaaary, fear my wrath, and you've got no self-esteem at all!"  
  
Snape stiffened. "You're using Muggle pop-psychology on me?"  
  
"Hell, you're worse than Neville, at least _Neville_ doesn't want to give Dorcas _knock-out drugs_ so he won't _inflict_ himself on her!"  
  
Snape's eyes were slits. "You did _not_ just compare me to Neville Longbottom."  
  
"I'm afraid I did, _Professor_. Don't be mad, though -- from what Dorcas tells me _endlessly_, Neville knows his way around a bed a hell of a lot better than he knows his way around a cauldron... maybe he could give you lessons..."  
  
Before Hermione could blink, she'd been thrown back against the bed, her wrists captured above her head, Snape's mouth inches from her own, his body pinning hers.  
  
"Make no mistake, _Hermione_," Snape growled into her ear. "My sense of _honor_ is the _only thing_ protecting your chastity. I don't need the Ministry's interference to make you want me. If I _chose_ to, I could have you _begging_ me, and I wouldn't need a potion, an Unforgivable, or Fudge's damnable Law..."  
  
"Professor Snape?" Hermione said innocently.  
  
"Yes?" he spat.  
  
Hermione leaned up, pressing her lips against his ear. "I wanted you _before_ I signed the contract. It's one of the reasons I signed it."  
  
And while he was still frozen in shock, Hermione wriggled out from beneath him, bouncing off the bed.  
  
"What?" Snape hissed, still frozen in place, rather ridiculous now that he loomed over her absence.  
  
"Gotta go, Professor," Hermione said cheerfully. "Late for Arithmancy. Y'know. See you tonight, though."  
  
She turned the stone in her ring, and disappeared.  
  
_Hermione Granger,_ Hermione thought in satisfaction as she peeled off the nightgown, _You are getting damned good at exits._


	9. Checkmate

Hermione's knife minced herbs at breakneck speed, a silver blur against the chopping block. Harry watched her work with a mixture of pride and nervousness, perched up on the table.  
  
"Remind me not to piss you off," Harry laughed... then winced, rubbing his forehead.  
  
"Daily Voldemort status report?"  
  
"Not a useful one," Harry said darkly. "He's happy about something... I just hope it's not the fit of glee I'm waiting for... I don't think it is."  
  
"What... what are you waiting for?"  
  
"I'm waiting for him to find out about _you_."  
  
Hermione's knife halted. "Harry Potter's sidekick..."  
  
"... Bound to one of his Death Eaters," Harry finished.  
  
"He's going to try to use me against you, isn't he?"  
  
"Yeah." Harry picked up a vial of bubbly golden solution, turning it in his fingertips. "You might want to practice your Dorcas impression, Hermione."  
  
"What?"  
  
"If Voldemort finds out that Snape compromised your Binding, he's gonna be furious. Not only was it totally non-Death-Eater of Snape... it weakens you as a weapon."  
  
"But nobody knows I'm Bound to him yet..."  
  
"Tonight's the last night, Hermione. People are expecting a Weasley/Granger wedding at midnight. When that doesn't happen, the talk will start, and your Binding to Snape is on record at the Ministry."  
  
"Oh my _God_, Harry..."  
  
The ramifications settled on Hermione, seeming to press her into the floor. Why hadn't she _thought_ about any of this?  
  
_I'm Hermione! I'm the one who thinks of stuff!_  
  
"It's not so bad, Hermione. This could only raise Snape's status as a Death Eater... which gets him closer to Voldemort, which means he hears more..."  
  
"Which means he's in more danger," Hermione snapped.  
  
Harry shrugged. "We're all in danger."  
  
"At least Ron..."  
  
"Ron's in more danger than ever," Harry said coldly. "He's linked to me, he's got celebrity status, and he's away from Hogwarts, away from Dumbledore, out in public. He's perfect bait. They might as well have painted _'Kidnap Me Please, I'm Sirius II'_ on his forehead."  
  
The cold fury in Harry's eyes sent a chill down Hermione's spine.  
  
"Everyone's a target, Hermione. I've put you and Ron in danger, I've put the entire Weasley family in danger, I've put the entire student body of Hogwarts in danger."  
  
Harry set the vial down grimly. "I can't undo the damage I did. The only way to keep you all safe is for Voldemort to die before anyone else does. If Snape can rise in the ranks, help that to happen... then that's what needs to happen."  
  
Hermione put down her knife, put her palms on the table, sighed heavily. "Harry... is this why you said all those things, about how you thought I'd be _happier_ with Snape?"  
  
"Hermione..." Harry's eyes had softened again. "Don't hate me. I really do think you'll be happier with Snape than Ron. I kind of... I kind of got the feeling you had a little crush on him you weren't admitting, too. Are you mad?"  
  
"I did... I do... have a little crush on Snape, I guess. A weird one. But the main reason I picked him was so that I could stay here with you, Harry. So I guess I _can't_ be mad."  
  
"Hermione... do you remember what you said to me, back at the Burrow? You said you'd rather be fighting Voldemort than laying on your back growing babies."  
  
"I meant it. I still do."  
  
"I think you'll be doing both at once. I think... I think maybe you're even more incredibly important than you were before. As much as this law sucks, as much as I hate that this happened to you... you're going to be in a position to do such amazing work for the Order, work that no one else is able to do. You'll be like... Hermione Bond."  
  
"Now you're being silly." But a pleased smile was growing across Hermione's face.  
  
"Hermione, I'm not. You're not the helpless victim of the Ministry. You're using the Ministry's _own law_ against them. You think this ever would have passed if Fudge wasn't in the Purebloods' pocket? Take down the Death Eaters, you take down the Purebloods, you take down this Law. It's... it's _poetic justice_."  
  
Hermione took a deep breath. "You're evil, but I like you, Harry."  
  
"And Hermione..." a wicked little grin crossed Harry's face. "Just think about how much your Dorcas impression's gonna piss off Snape."  
  
---  
  
"The Tempero Silentium Potion and the Diludoleo Potion differ by only two ingredients." Snape's voice echoed around the dungeon, off the walls, and reverberated in Hermione's spine. "And they are two of a select handful of potions that the Ministry allows to be used on Muggles. Can anyone tell me why this is?"  
  
Hermione's hand shot into the air; Snape pointedly ignored it.  
  
"Anyone? Miss Patil?"  
  
Parvati stammered out a long-winded and totally wrong explanation, and Hermione sighed quietly, watching Snape's face as he winced in time to each word from Parvati's mouth.  
  
_Why hasn't he cut her off yet? What's wrong with him?_  
  
Hermione smiled a catlike, private smile, remembering how flustered he'd been this morning.  
  
_Maybe I know what's wrong with him._  
  
Snape's long, elegant fingers played lightly over the pages of his book before reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. Hermione's eyes followed their movement, tracing the lines of Snape's body as he paced, trying to pick out the angles of muscle and sinew beneath his robe, imagining what it would be like to watch him undo all those buttons... one by one by one...  
  
_Huh. Doing my Dorcas impression may be easier than I thought._  
  
"Professor Snape?" Hermione cooed.  
  
He sighed in irritation, lifting his eyes to her. "Yes, Miss Granger?"  
  
"The Tempero Silentium Potion and the Diludoleo Potion both have effects similar to those of ordinary Muggle medicines. Muggles would not consider them magical... even if they were brewed by such a _talented_, _attractive_ Master as yourself."  
  
The class turned and gaped, and Snape blinked in confusion. "Thank you, Miss Granger."  
  
"Thank _you_, Professor. It is a _joy_ and an _honor_ to have you _share your wisdom_ with us."  
  
"Right." Snape stalked back to the board, visibly rattled. "You'll find the ingredients..."  
  
"He is _such_ a good kisser," Hermione whispered to Parvati, adopting the same histrionic moan that she'd heard Parvati use herself.  
  
"What?" Parvati hissed. "You kissed Snape?"  
  
"Did I _ever_," Hermione sighed, her mouth twitching. If Parvati knew she was being parodied, it didn't register.  
  
"But Ron..."  
  
"I didn't pick Ron," Hermione let a laviscious smile spread over her lips. "I picked _Severus_. Why have a boy when you can have a _man_, right? And _what a man he is_..."  
  
All the color went out of Parvati's face. "You haven't..."  
  
"Not yet. I think tonight. I can't _wait_..." Hermione leaned over to whisper in Parvati's ear. "If he's half as good at that as he is at..."  
  
"Miss Granger?"  
  
"Yes, Professor?" Hermione stared him in the eyes, licking her lips.  
  
"You... the..." Snape stilled himself, breathing deeply. "Would you care to share your comments to Miss Patil with the rest of the class? I'm sure your _insightful_ commentary would be appreciated by all."  
  
"I was merely telling Miss Patil how much I was looking forward to our... extra lesson this evening," Hermione drawled, running the tip of her quill along her collarbone. "I've always thought it would be _exciting_ to _work under you_."  
  
Snape's eyes flared in fury. "Detention. My office. After class."  
  
"Oh, _no_," Hermione breathed, shooting Parvati a meaningful look. "Am I... going to be _punished_?"  
  
Parvati tittered loudly, and the rest of the class looked at them in confusion.  
  
"Yes, Miss Granger, you _are_."   
  
Snape stalked back to the blackboard, and Hermione turned to Parvati for the killing blow.  
  
"Ohmigod! Did you hear that! _Detention_!" Hermione squealed under her breath. "Does my hair look okay?"  
  
Parvati started fussing with her curls, and Hermione didn't bother keeping the smirk off her face.  
  
_Harry was right. This _is_ fun._  
  
---   
  
SLAM!  
  
"What the hell was that, Miss Granger?"  
  
"Hermione."  
  
"What the hell was that, _Hermione_?"  
  
Hermione dropped into a chair, lounging across it. "That was me saving your ass. Do you have any more of those biscuits?"  
  
_Oh, I am _so_ punk rock right now. Ron would _die_ if he saw this!_  
  
"Saving my..." Snape's eyes crackled with lightning. "_Explain yourself._"  
  
"If Voldemort finds out you loosened the Binding on Harry Potter's little sidekick..."  
  
Snape crossed his arms. "You were _acting_."  
  
Hermione grinned. "Yes."  
  
"Like a revolting little nymphet, you were _acting_. Disrupting my entire class, undermining my authority, playing around at knowing the mind of Voldemort, you were _acting_."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Snape stared at her for a moment, then rummaged in his desk. "Well, Miss Granger, I am of course sorry to lose you as a student. Under the circumstances, however, I understand your decision to drop my class."  
  
Hermione shot forward in her chair, panic flaring in her eyes. "What? I don't want to drop your class!"  
  
"Just sign this form, and..." Snape's smile grew wider, predatorial. "Well actually, as your _husband_, I can just sign this for you."  
  
"I'm not dropping your class!"  
  
"Mrs.... Severus... Snape..." Snape purred out the words as he signed her name to the drop form. "Well, there you go, my dear. Enjoy your new free period."  
  
"I'm not dropping your class!"  
  
"I'm afraid you just did."  
  
"I'm your best student."  
  
"You _were_ my best student. Detention is over, get out of my office."  
  
"You rip that up right now!" Hermione was horrified to hear her voice crack.  
  
_Get back in control... get back in control..._  
  
"What's that you say?" Snape said silkily. "Thinking of dropping Transfiguration, too? Oh, that's _too_ bad, Professor McGonagall will be _so_ disappointed... fortunately, I have a whole drawer full of drop forms..."  
  
"You _wouldn't_."  
  
"Miss Granger, I can arrange as much free time for you as you require. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to _get out of my office_?"  
  
"This isn't over."  
  
"No, of course it isn't. After all, tonight's the night you've demanded that I _make sweet love to you_, is it not?"  
  
"You're not touching me."  
  
"Your rejection has broken my heart, Miss Granger. Now kindly get out of my sight so that I may pine for you properly."  
  
Hermione stood, chest heaving, staring at him.  
  
Snape stared right back, taking another drop form from his desk. "10... 9... 8... 7..."  
  
Hermione fled from his office, tears springing to her eyes.


	10. Purgatory

"Why, my eyes deceive me!"

Hermione didn't look up from her knees. "Go away, Malfoy."

"Hermione Granger, Perfect Prefect, _Head Girl_... skipping class? Fifty points from Gryffindor, Mudblood, and fifty more for giving me a _heart attack_ from _shock_."

More footsteps in the leaves. "What are you out here boo-hooing about, anyway? I thought you'd be in the Hall with your nose stuck in the air."

Hermione looked up with a glare. "You're getting us confused."

"Well, you can see how I'd have trouble," Malfoy smirked, lounging against the tree and arranging his robes artistically. "Twisting the Ministry's law to further your ambition? Pretty damned Slytherin, if you ask me. Wonder where the Hat would have put you if you hadn't been a filthy Mudblood?"

Hermione leapt to her feet, stalking away. Draco dogged her heels.

"You must be far better in the sack than any of us suspected, Mudblood. I guess they do teach something of use in the Muggle schools..."

She glared. "Did Snape send you?"

"I'm not his house-elf, Mudblood... _you_ are." Draco paused, sneering. "Although it would seem you've managed to Bind him, just the same."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"C'mon, Mudblood, tell me how you convinced him. Were you on your knees at the time? I know how hard it is to talk with your mouth full..."

Hermione whirled. "Your mouth is about to be full of my fist."

"Always figured he liked it rough. Is that it? Do you tie him up? Make him call you Mistress Granger? Always figured there had to be a bit of kink underneath that Gryffindor halo."

A cold voice from behind them. "Bugger off, Malfoy."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, turning to face Harry. "Oh, save your breath, Potter. It's not like she's got virtue left to defend."

"The issue is whether you've got body parts to lose," Harry replied evenly.

"I _do _like watching you play the bold hero, Harry," Malfoy laughed. "Especially since you have so little time left to do it in."

He stepped back from them, blowing Hermione a kiss before sauntering away.

"Ignore him," Harry sighed. "He's just jealous."

"Harry..." Hermione watched Malfoy go, biting her lip. 'What's he got to be jealous _of_?"

"I'd imagine it's the Potions thing," Harry shrugged. "It's the only class he's ever done well in. I suppose he'd assumed Snape could choose him. Bit daft of him, since Snape had you covering classes even before the whole... you know."

"Harry... what on earth are you talking about?"

Harry looked at her face, a smile quirking. "I take it Snape didn't tell you. He's taken you on as an apprentice, _this_ year. Independent study, to replace your normal Potions course. Apparently it's seldom done, quite the honor."

"You're joking."

"Was it funny? And what have you been crying about?"

"Snape..." Hermione shook her head, a fierce glint glowing in her eyes. "It doesn't matter. Another stupid mind game."

Harry patted her shoulder awkwardly. "You, ah... take your mind off it, then? I was thinking of visiting Hagrid."

"That's all right, Harry," Hermione smiled. "You go. I've got... something to do."

-

"What's this?" Snape demanded as Hermione slammed a glass beaker of effervescent blue fluid on his desk.

"I believe you know quite well what it is. I thought you might like to check my work."

He looked up at her, and for just the briefest flash, she saw it.

_Terror.  
_  
He turned his gaze to the parchment before him. "It is no concern of mine if you poison yourself in incompetence, _Hermione_."

"As you like," Hermione snapped, snatching up the glass and draining it... setting the empty container in the center of Snape's feigned reading.

He moved it aside thoughtlessly, never looking up.

"I suppose I'll see you tonight, then," Hermione spat.

He turned a page with a small yawn. "I suppose you shall."

-

Her bath had long gone cold, her fingers gnarled; the sandwich she'd brought up to replace dinner had dried out on its plate, only one bite missing.

She'd begun in such a flurry of activity, anxious to ensure that there would not be a square inch of her for Snape to criticize; the enormity of being _naked_ in front of _Snape_ like the sum total of every humiliating nightmare she'd ever had, the sudden horror of seeing herself through his eyes: was her left breast bigger than her right, or was that her imagination? When had she gotten that mosquito bite, and why hadn't she paid more attention when Crookshanks scratched her? 

And then it hit her like a ton of bricks.

After tonight, she would be _pregnant_.

After tonight, she would be a _mother_. _Forever_.

It was huge... impossibly huge, incomprehensibly huge. Babies, helpless and alien, unable to tell her what they needed. Toddlers, manic and dangerous, always wanting to stick their fingers in light sockets and eat paint. Children, soaking up their entire future from her choices every single day. Teenagers, angry and resentful, the memory of her every weak moment, every flaw fueling their rage. A million decisions to make every day, each one with a huge and thudding impact.

Decisions she would have to make with _Snape_.

God, if she'd only chosen Ron! Molly _worshipped_ babies, would have bubbled over with advice, pleaded to be allowed to help.

Did Snape even have a mother? Or a father? God, would they want to be involved? What sort of parents turned out _Snape_?

She rose from the freezing bath, reaching for her robe.

-

"I've chickened out," she announced imperiously the moment she appeared in his bedroom.

Snape's sigh of relief was explosive. "Oh, thank _God_."

She couldn't help it - she started laughing, her hand rising to cover her mouth, collapsing into the chair by the fire. "That was easy."

Snape watched her, the slightest of smiles on his face.

He'd _bathed_, amazingly enough; his hair gleaming in the firelight from health, not the slickness of oil. Moreover, it was neatly tied in a ribbon at the base of his neck, and he'd swapped the voluminous, batlike robes for shirtsleeves and trousers. Candles that had sat dusty in their candleabras were lit; there was a silver tray on the desk against which he leaned.

"You've gone all out," she observed. "You look... nice."

"_You_ don't," he replied flatly.

It didn't sting as it should; seeing him like this, dressed up for her and obviously nervous, made him seem... _younger_, somehow, more vulnerable. The thought of him dreading this evening as she had... the mere idea that he could have spent his hours in the same way, preparing for the ultimate vulnerability in front of hostile, judging eyes...

"Well, I came straight from chickening out. I was in the tub at the time. Hence the damp." She tried a smile. "The bath-robe wasn't just for easy access."

"Indeed." He reached behind him for the carafe of dark liquid; Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"What's that, then? I told you I wasn't to be drugged."

He rolled his eyes to heaven. "It's _wine_."

"I'm too young to drink."

"You're too young for many things that were on the agenda this evening, Mi... _Hermione_. Since you've rebuffed my every attempt to make this easier on you, I thought the wine would at least be... relaxing. However, since you've changed your mind..."

"No, no, I... well, I _have_ changed my mind, but I... I'd like to try it, if you don't mind. The wine, anyway."

He nodded, pouring two glasses; handing her one, he settled in the other chair.

She sipped, grimacing. "Ugh. It's foul."

"You're welcome," he drawled.

"Sorry." She curled up into the chair, tucking her robe around her. "I suppose it's an acquired taste."

"So. Why have you - as you so eloquently put it - 'chickened out', Hermione?"

She stared into her wine glass. "I just... got to thinking. About babies. Being a mother. Believe it or not, it was scarier than you."

"Truly terrifying, then." He sipped his wine.

"What are your parents like?"

He stared into the fire. "My parents are dead."

"Oh. Well, I'm... sorry."

"That's unnecessary."

"What... what _were_ they like? Do you have any other family? It's just... y'know. Genetics. I'm curious."

The corners of his lips curled. "They were free of inheritable diseases."

Hermione rolled her eyes, taking a drink. "Fine. Don't tell me."

"And your family?"

"Free of inheritable diseases."

"Alive, I'd assume? Am I to be hauled home to charm Mummy and Daddy?"

Hermione let out a sudden snort at the thought, coughing on her wine. "That... that might not be the best idea."

"You plan to hide a marriage and children from them? What a close and special relationship you must have."

Hermione blinked. "They're dentists."

"Ah, yes, well. That explains everything."

Hermione peered into her empty wine glass. "May I have some more?"

Snape fetched the bottle, pouring a little for them both. "You might consider slowing down."

She stretched against the chair. "I like the way it makes my head feel."

"Ah, just what I always wanted. An alcoholic teenager to call my own."

"And I'd so hoped that one day, if I was terribly good, the Ministry would ruin my life."

Snape set his glass down, staring at her intently. "Has your life been ruined?"

"Oh come _on_," Hermione laughed, reaching for the bottle to refill her glass. "I triple-check my assignments because I'm deathly afraid of making a _spelling error_ in front of you... and now you're going to see me naked? Not to mention the whole bloody Binding-babies-bollocks..."

Snape reached over, pulling the bottle and glass from her hand. "You've had quite enough."

"I wish you'd kiss me," Hermione sighed.

Snape froze, then shook his head. "You've had _more_ than enough. And that's the Binding talking."

"Well, if you _kissed_ me," Hermione insisted peevishly, "I could go sleep it off in my own bed, couldn't I?"

"_Oh_," Snape said awkwardly. "Well. I suppose that's different. If you prefer."

Hermione climbed to her feet, heading for the bed with a slight stagger.

"Changed your mind?" Snape followed her at a small distance, watching her for stumbles.

"No," Hermione said, climbing onto the bed.

He heaved a sigh of impatience. "You _just_ said you wanted to..."

She grabbed him by the edge of his waistcoat, tugging him downwards; surprised, he tumbled atop her, barely managing to catch himself with his hands.

"Okay," Hermione breathed, and kissed him.

She'd forgotten how shockingly good he was at this, the exquisite pressure of lip and soft, slow caress of tongue, warmth flooding through her veins as she opened for him, a sudden surge of lust and bravery wrapping her calves around his, drawing him closer. He moved above her, adjusting to a less awkward position, and the hardened heat of him pressed against her, making her moan into his mouth as she arched up to meet him, rewarded with a ragged groan that tore from his throat. She felt her bathrobe slide apart from the movement, pooling at her sides, but his hand on her bare skin was still a shock, warm against her hip and sliding upwards; he halted just below her breast, ripping his mouth from hers.

"We have to stop," he gasped.

She ran her fingers into his hair, loosening the ribbon that held his ponytail, letting her fingernails play along his scalp; he sucked in air involuntarily. "Hermione, we have to stop. You're drunk and..."

She kissed him again, but he pulled back, rising to his feet; his soft gaze wandered her body, and Hermione hurriedly wrapped the robe back around her.

"That should be sufficient to allow you to sleep alone," he commanded, all business once again. "I expect you in the dungeons at nine a.m. to begin your apprenticeship. Being late would be most unwise."

She had no desire to sleep alone, now; her own cold bed sounded like a kind of purgatory. But she rose with as much dignity as manageable, turning her ring and disappearing in a flash of light...

A second before Snape sat down heavily on the bed, face in his hands. 


End file.
